Broken
by Ranayana
Summary: AU story! Rohan is at the edge of peril and Théoden King has fallen under the spell of Saruman. Determinedly Prince Théodred fights for his people, but is unable to even protect himself from the growing evil...and is soon found gone. Is there any hope...?
1. Prologue

_**The people of Rohan are at the edge of peril and King Théoden has fallen under the spell of Saruman and his ally Grima Wormtongue. The King's heir, Théodred is the only one who sees the truth, and for that he pays the price. And when the King finally realizes Grima's betrayal, it may be too late…**_

_Disclaimer:__ I guess it's kind of obvious, but I do not own the characters of Middle-Earth. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. However, any characters you do not recognize, do belong to me!_

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**BROKEN – Prologue**

_By Ranayana_

* * *

_**Edoras, December 3017 T.A.**_

As twilight slowly fell upon the city, the courtyards emptied and the great wooden gates closed behind the last riders returning to the city. The stables that rustled with activity during the day, quieted down. Husbands returned to their wives and families after a long day's work. Children gathered by the stove, eagerly waiting for dinner. And when dusk finally came, not a single soul was out on the hilltop, save for the two dark shapes standing on the front porch of the Great Hall of Meduseld.

Èowyn, daughter of Eomund, looked up at her older cousin with a deep frown creasing her features. Even for one of the Rohirrim, the Prince was a fair sight, with dark golden hair and crystal blue-green eyes, but that beauty and pride was overshadowed by something else – something that pained him deeply.

As he stood gazing into the distance, Èowyn looked into his radiant eyes and saw the sadness in them. That sadness had been in his gaze ever since his father, the King, had fallen under the spell of Grima Wormtongue.

Now as she stood there beside him, looking into those eyes, the memories of the past few days resurfaced in her mind. Théodred, ever loyal to King and land, had tried to warn his father about roaming Orcs at the borders of Westfold… but in the end, the King had barely even listened.

* * *

_"That is not possible. Orcs in the Westfold? Saruman would never allow that."_

_The dark robed court advisor had slowly bent down beside his King, closer even than the Prince himself was allowed when the King held audience._

_"Bold words… to accuse Saruman, our friend and ally, of such betrayal. Such false words to voice before the King."_

_Théodred hadn't even flinched at the words. He had simply looked at his father, refusing to meet the Worm's eyes. _

_And then, with rising distaste and anger towards the King's advisor, he had said,_ _"What about you, Grima Wormtongue? How long is it since Saruman bought you to poison the King's mind?"_

_"Enough." Théoden had quietly interrupted. "Grima is loyal to Rohan. How dare you accuse him of betrayal? Maybe he is right. Maybe you are the one I should fear..."_

_The worm had sneered secretly at the Prince, but when he had spoken to the King, his voice had been soft and sweet like honey._

_"My liege, your son has been disobeying your orders and rambled on about Orcs from Isengard for quite a long time. I hate to say it, but this kind of madness is not suitable for the heir of Rohan…"_

_That had been the last straw for Théodred. Grabbing the snake by the collar he had pulled him up against one of the high pillars that lined the throne room. Shocked, the advisor had desperately gasped for air until two of the King's guards had pulled Théodred gently, but firmly away. _

_"Do you see what I mean, Sire? Your son is out of control." Grima's eyes had been ablaze with anger as he had hastily returned to the King's side. "But, I will change that..."_

* * *

Èowyn shook the memory off her mind. She should never have witnessed the confrontation between father and son. It was only by chance that she had, but she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about it either.

"Théodred..." She began, but failed to find the right words. He hadn't spoken to her since that day in the throne room.

At first Théodred had fought back, but now the fire in his eyes was fading and he no longer cared to resist. Èowyn embraced her cousin and whispered into his ear, "Everything will be all right, dearest cousin. "

And for the first time in many days, Théodred responded ever so quietly. "No, Èowyn. Nothing will be the same again. Ever…"


	2. Confrontation

_Disclaimer:__ Obviously, I do not own Middle-Earth. This is completely a non-profit story. As I'm sure everyone is aware of..._

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**Broken - Chapter I**

**Confrontation**

* * *

_**Westfold, Mid-**__**February, 3018 T.A.**_

It was in the middle of the night when the screams started. They reached Dríana's ears like the blow of a horn that was mere inches away. She jumped out of her bed and ran to the closest window. The sight that met her was a sight she would never forget. Half the village was on fire and the chaos that raged outside was overwhelming.

Without delay, she ran to her sister's side and woke her up, her voice trembling with fear as she spoke. "Come on, Fréda. We have to get out of here. Now."

The little girl looked confused, but she obeyed. She had long since learned to trust her older sister.

They hurried out of the house and looked around. One of the neighbor houses was already burning, but the worst of the chaos hadn't hit this part of the village yet. However, as Dríana and Fréda started to make their way towards the stables to get their old draught horse, their way was cut off by four monstrous creatures that were something between Orc and human.

Out of instinct Dríana quickly put Fréda behind her and started slowly moving towards the house again. But, the Orcs circled around her, their yellow eyes glimmering in the pre-dawn darkness. The only reason why Dríana managed to remain calm was because of the little girl standing behind her. But, she knew that there was no way out of this.

Like the villagers of the neighbor town a fortnight ago, they would all be dead by dawn.

Dríana thought about screaming for her sister to run, but she knew the little girl wouldn't make it far. The Orcs came close and had the two girls backed up against the cottage wall, when Dríana could suddenly hear the thunder of hooves. Confused, the Orcs looked around and in the next moment a spear pierced the biggest of them.

The sudden interference caught the Orcs off guard and as an _eored_ of riders emerged through the fog, they were an easy prey. Dríana watched the riders in awe as they slaughtered the Orcs and continued to hunt down the rest of the foul creatures roaming the village.

A loud crack suddenly came from above and then large drops of rain started to pour down on the burning village. Shouts of joy now blended with the screams of fear and despair, and beside her, Dríana could hear Fréda offer a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods.

When she could no longer discern the riders in the rain, Dríana fell down on her knees and embraced her sister. Fréda hadn't shed a single tear when the Orcs had threatened them, but now the little girl was crying from relief and exhaust. Dríana could feel her own tears, too, burning her cheeks and she was too shaken to notice that the riders were returning and that one of them had ridden up to the two sisters.

Only when the horse snorted and stamped its feet did Dríana raise her head to find herself looking up at a rider in green and brown leather and armor. She could tell from his proud stature and elaborate armor that he was a highborn Lord.

"Are you two all right?" The rider asked, his voice like cold steel and obviously used to shouting out orders.

Dríana struggled to her feet and bowed her head slightly. "Yes, my lord. Thank you."

He smiled ruefully back at her. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

Slightly surprised by his genuine concern, Dríana looked at the house and sighed. The flames were slowly dying, but the roof would need mending before the house was livable again.

She turned her gaze back to the rider. "We will manage, my lord."

He raised a fair brow skeptically, his gaze lingering on the damaged house. "Very well. Please tell the others that help is on its way from Helm's Deep."

He then swung his horse around and Dríana watched him go, a shy smile on her lips. In such deep thought was she that she almost jumped when the old Smith's wife, Felewyn put a hand on her shoulder.

"Every maiden's dream, huh?"

"By the Gods, you startled me." Dríana exclaimed, but she was happy to see the older woman. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Don't say you don't know who that was?"

Dríana shrugged and then shook her head. The riders had worn helmets and armor. There was no way she could have recognized one from the other.

"That, my dear, was Prince Théodred. The Second Marshal of Riddermark."

Dríana's face paled. "What?"

"Oh, yes. He and his men have been hunting those creatures in the Westfold for the past few weeks... disobeying the King's orders, some say."

Dríana frowned. Why would the Prince have to disobey orders to protect the land from those foul beasts?

-0-0-0-

Théodred ran a hand through his blond hair as he and his men camped for the rest of the night. As always, he was restless after an incident like this one and couldn't sleep. His men were anxious, too, but mostly because their Marshal was disobeying the orders of the King. They admired Théodred and saw the reason why he couldn't obey his father, but it unnerved them, too.

Two months ago, the King had announced that there were no Orcs in the Westfold and that the Prince's mind was prey to delusions. But, during the five weeks the riders had now patrolled with their Prince, three more villages had been attacked.

Things were different in the Eastfold where Èomer was fighting off the Orcs. Those Orcs _were_ aimless and only destroyed for pleasure… but these Orcs and wildmen in the West… there was something else to it.

Théodred sat on the blankets in his private tent and was cleaning the scratches and cuts he had received in the battle when a voice from outside the tent interrupted him.

"My lord, Théodred? A messenger brings word from the King. He expects your immediate return to Edoras."

Théodred cursed and pulled on a shirt before stepping out of the tent. One of the older riders stood there, a written note in his hand. Théodred took it and read it with rising anger. The note came from his father, but Théodred knew that Grima Wormtongue had been the one to issue the summoning.

Reluctantly he told the man to inform the riders that they would be heading back to Edoras at dawn. He simply had no other choice. Like a helpless beast in a snare, Théodred was caught between two choices – to endure the snare and await his captor's mercy, or to madly struggle and make it worse.

* * *

At dawn, Théodred and his men set forth towards Edoras, leaving Erkenbrand and his _eored_ to patrol the western borders while they were gone. A sinking feeling filled Théodred as he sighting the great hall of Meduseld less than a day's rider later. He knew, however, that he couldn't keep avoiding his father. Ill advised or not, he was still the King.

When Théodred entered the Hall, he found his father on his throne, but to his great relief Grima Wormtongue was nowhere to be seen. Instead, it was Èowyn who was by the King's side.

The King of Rohan looked up and a weak smile appeared on his lips. "Son, welcome back. You made it faster than I had dared hope for. Please, come closer."

Théodred walked up to the throne and kneeled respectfully in front of his father. As he stood up again, Èowyn walked over and embraced him. "You've been gone for far too long, cousin."

Théodred smiled at his younger cousin and answered the embrace. It pained him that his young cousin had to stand the King's advisor day and night, but it comforted him that his father had someone of his kin around.

When Èowyn released the embrace, she turned to look at her uncle. "I shall leave you with your son, my lord. If I'm needed, please let me know."

The King nodded and Théodred watched his cousin leave before turning towards his father. As he spoke he kept his voice calm, not wanting to end up in an open quarrel with his father again.

"Is there a reason for this urgent summoning, my lord?"

"Yes." The King said with a sigh, motioning at the chair next to him, but Théodred remained standing. "I wish we can speak openly to one another, my son. There's a reason why you are here, but first I want to know how you are fairing?"

It took most of Théodred's self-control to keep his emotions in check, and all of it before he could speak with a steady voice. "Yes, my lord. I feel quite well." He fought the desire to add 'as I've always done'.

Théoden smiled. "Good. That's good."

As Théodred looked his father in the eye, he could feel tears forming in his eyes. The King meant no offense by those words. He simply believed everything Grima Wormtongue had told him about Théodred's supposed 'illness'… and he only acted as any parent would. He was concerned.

"I became worried when word reached Edoras that you were patrolling the western borders, so I thought it best to summon you back to Edoras for a while. You are my son and therefore I've been willing to overlook your follies, but I have my limits. Why did you ride to Helm's Deep?"

Théodred swallowed. This was it. He had to try to get some sense into his father. "Three villages in Westfold have been attacked by Orcs and wildmen during the last few months… and I don't think you can deny it any longer. What more proof do you need? Whether they are Orcs from the east or the west, they are not supposed to roam our lands."

"As for my decision to leave… Helm's Deep is my keep and it is my duty to visit there every now and then. The riders are getting restless all there by themselves."

Théodred paused for a moment to see if the King was even listening. "Father, three days ago we came upon a band of Orcs and the next day they were burning a village…"

The King raised his hand and Théodred fell silent. "Theo… you said you were feeling better. Even if there are stray Orcs roaming our lands, they're hardly organized or a threat to the kingdom. A small band of Orcs couldn't possibly burn an entire village."

"But shouldn't they still be dealt with?" Théodred said, raising his voice slightly.

"Calm down, son. I didn't say that they shouldn't be dealt with."

Théodred was just about to speak as an oily voice interrupted him. "Orcs in the Westfold?"

Grima Wormtongue emerged from the shadows and bent down by the King's side. He looked quickly at Théodred with a slight bow of his head. "It's a pleasure to have you here again, your Highness. As for these _Orcs,_ I don't think we have to worry about them. Stray Ors have always roamed the borders of Rohan."

Thédored tried to breathe calmly, but the fact of the matter was that he found it very hard to breathe at all. "Father… what about the safety of our people? Should we just leave them to die?"

"Théodred, do we have to deal with this again? You heard what Grima said. There's nothing to worry about."

Théodred couldn't hold back the bite in his voice anymore. "You used to listen to my counsel, too, you know. Not that long ago. And now the only time you talk to me is regarding my 'delusions'."

The King stood slowly up, leaning partly on Grima. "Son, I want those times back, but as long as you…"

"Enough." Théodred knew this had gone too far, but he couldn't pretend anymore. Not when his father was obviously blind to everything else except Grima's word. "Why can't you see? These are all lies set up by that snake you call advisor. He doesn't serve you with good will."

Grima hissed. "Do you doubt your King's judgment?"

Théodred ignored him. "Father, whether you think I'm in the wrong or not, you should be able to listen to your own son before listening to a stranger's advice."

The King's eyes watered as Grima motioned for two guards to grab Théodred firmly. It was obvious, though, that they weren't quite sure about what to do. The King released himself from Grima and took his son's face in his frail hands.

"Why did Bema do this to you, my son? You are burning with fever and I can see that you are hurting. Stop now. I beg you…"

He then turned towards Grima, his voice surprisingly strong and angry. "You said you could cure him. If you can't, I'll tell a healer to take care of him until the fever is gone and he calms down."

Théoden then gave his son one more look. "Son… if you do not heal, I have no other choice than to take from you your right to the throne and hand it to Èomer."

Théodred was too shocked at his father's words to respond. As the guards took him to his chambers, he no longer resisted. There was nothing more he could do.


	3. Alone

_Disclaimer:__ I do not own the characters of Middle-Earth. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. However, any characters you do not recognize, do belong to me!_

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**Broken – Chapter II**

**Alone**

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_**Edoras, Mid-February 3018 T.A.**_

_Silence and darkness. That was the only thing Théodred was aware of. He had no idea for how long he had been sleeping, but as he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't._

_They had almost carried him to his bed and a healer had given him some mixture of herbs that had sent him deep into the embrace of sleep. Now he was sweating and feeling lightheaded, even though he was lying in bed. Every inch of his body was aching. Slowly he found himself drifting off into sweet unconsciousness again._

* * *

When the healer had left, Èowyn lingered at her cousin's side. He looked peaceful as he slept, although Èowyn knew that deep in his mind he was still struggling against the strong hands that had held him to his bed and fed him with herbs that would send him to sleep, forcing him to swallow.

Èowyn took up a damp cloth and placed it on his brow. At the soft touch, Théodred stirred slightly in his sleep and Èowyn stroke his cheek gently, taking his cold hand. After a while she got up and was just about to leave when Grima appeared in the doorway. As he saw her he gave the Prince's sleeping body a concerned look.

"How is his Highness?"

Èowyn stepped back in disgust. The King's advisor or not, she didn't like the man. "He will be fine, Grima. But you'd better not disturb my cousin when he's sleeping."

Her voice remained cold and her face expressionless as she spoke, but deep inside she was struggling with her emotions. Grima smiled dryly and disappeared down the same way he had come.

When she was sure he was gone, Èowyn made her way outside in need of fresh air, and stopped at the front stairs. The sun was setting behind the mountains and far away in the distance she could see a company of riders approaching the city. A smile appeared on her face, for it was her brother who was returning from the Eastfold.

-0-0-0-

Théodred opened his eyes slowly. He was alone again and was glad of it. He didn't mind his cousin's presence, but he needed some time alone. His head spinning, Théodred sat up in the bed and massaged his temples. His head felt like it could explode and his muscles ached. After a while he remembered the confrontation with his father and cursed. He had been foolish to go too far, but he had desperately wanted for his father to realize Grima's deception, even though it was in vain.

When he was sure his legs would carry him, Théodred stood up and pulled on his tunic. At first chance given, he would leave Edoras and summon his troops to Helm's Deep.

He was putting on his boots when the door opened, revealing the last person Théodred wanted to see. Normally, Théodred didn't mind if someone entered without knocking, but Grima's arrogant boldness angered him. Without invitation, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Already awake, your Highness?" Grima said with deceptive kindness. "I don't find it very wise, my lord. You should be in bed…"

Before the man could react, Théodred had drawn his dagger and held it to the Worm's throat. "Do you really think someone would care if I killed you now?"

Grima paled as the cold blade touched his throat, his eyes flickering nervously between the dagger and the eyes of the man who held it. "I'm no fool, Grima. I see through your lies even if no one else does and I swear that I need no further encouragement to slice off your throat right now."

Grima's grey eyes narrowed. "But who would believe you, Théodred son of Théoden? Once I'm dead, my blood on your blade, who will believe you?"

Thédored lowered the dagger slowly and Grima released himself from his grasp. "Yes, _my lord_. Perhaps you should consider that before using that blade. Not even a Prince is above the law."

As Grima turned to leave, Théodred caught the glimpse of a small bottle in his pale hands, before it subtly vanished into one of the many pockets in his black robes. _Had Grima planned on poisoning him?_

As the door closed behind the wretched man, Théodred let the dagger drop to the floor. _Would he truly care if they called him murderer?_ _If it came down between his own life and the realm...?_

-0-0-0-

In the stables, Èowyn greeted her brother, totally unaware of the events in Meduseld. When she had mentioned Théodred's state to Èomer, he had exchanged worried glances with his second in command, Èothain. Both men knew all too well that the Prince's state was not a good omen for Riddermark. Èomer knew his cousin wasn't mad (he had seen those burned villages himself), but the Prince's open quarrel with the King and his advisor, angered Èomer.

_Why couldn't Théodred simply remain quiet and do what he was told?_ Èomer chuckled at the thought. Of course, then he would not be _Théodred_. His cousin hadn't simply earned the rank of second Marshal of the Mark by keeping quiet about things that concerned his people.

_No._ He wouldn't be silenced so easily… and that frightened Èomer.

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_**A/N: Please, review! I would really appreciate some feedback on this story! Thank you.**_


	4. Poison

_Disclaimer:__ I do not own any of the characters you recognize from the books and movies! They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema etc. BUT, characters you do not recognize, do belong to me!_

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**Broken - Chapter III**

**Poison**

* * *

_**Edoras, Mid-February 3018 T.A.**_

When Èomer entered the King's Hall, he found to his great dismay that Grima Wormtongue was there to greet him. He usually didn't mind the advisor's presence, but he didn't like his stolen glances at Èowyn.

"I see you have returned, Lord Èomer." Grima said. "What news do you bring from the Eastfold? The King didn't expect you to return so soon."

"I will speak with the King, _Grima_. I have news of great importance, and I won't waste them on a mere advisor." He moved past Wormtongue, but the King's advisor didn't let the matter drop.

He looked scornfully at Èomer. "Watch your tongue, Èomer son of Eomund. You are only here because the King wishes so."

"I am aware of that." With that Èomer turned his back on Grima with a grim look on his face, and kneeled before his uncle at the throne. "My King."

"Èomer, you have returned. I take it everything is fine at our eastern borders." Théoden said with a hint of a smile on his face.

Èomer stood up. "I'm afraid not, my lord. We drove back a large band of Orcs earlier this month, but there will be more. I'm afraid we cannot hold the them all at bay with the scarce forces we have."

Théoden frowned. "Go on."

"They moved past Entwash and the strong hold of Darrowdale three weeks ago…"

Grima walked up to the King and spoke quietly, "If Mordor has sent Orcs over our borders we need to send more men to the Folde, my lord."

Eòmer, having heard the remark, shook his head. "But there are none, my lord. Westfold and Edoras…"

Théoden raised his hand and Èomer fell silent. "Grima is right, Èomer. We need to stop these foul beasts of the east."

"If I may, my lord…" Grima said and stood up. "I think we should send men from the Westfold and Helm's Deep. There is no threat to our western borders and there are not enough riders in Edoras alone."

Èomer opened his mouth to speak, but the King silenced him again. "Yes, send word to Helm's Deep. The companies and _eoreds_ there are to join the riders in Aldburg."

"But, my lord… those are Théodred's men, and I think it unwise to leave Helm's Deep and the western borders defenseless."

Théoden seemed slightly angered. "What threat is there to the Westfold when the riders protect our country in the east? Orcs don't come this far…"

The words hang a long time in the air before the King spoke again. "Those are my final orders, Èomer. You are to summon the riders of Théodred's companies and ride to Aldburg. From there you will take the men to Darrowdale and fight back the enemy."

Èomer bowed, not intending to question the King's orders. He knew all too well that he was not in the position to argue with the King. Èomer was about to leave, but the King stopped him with silent and weary words, "And please... do not mention Théodred again when it comes to matters like these. For the moment I think he is incapable of being in command of _any __eoreds_. Now go. You are dismissed."

When Èomer left the throne room and made his way to his quarters, he wasn't at all surprised to find his sister sitting on his bed. She stood up as he approached her. "I'm sorry. I heard all that, Eòmer... and I don't think you should go. At least not with the men of Helm's Deep. Théodred ordered them there for a reason."

"I know, sister. But what can I do? In the King's eyes I'm merely a warrior. Even as the Third Marshal I have no true authority."

Èowyn sat down on the bed again. "You are wrong. He thinks of you as more than that. In fact, you are quite possibly to be his heir."

"What?" Èomer looked shocked beyond reason and Èowyn sighed.

"I heard him speak with Théodred and Grima. If our cousin doesn't meet the King's requirements, he will make _you_ the heir of Rohan."

Èomer finished taking off his armor and sat down beside his sister. "What in Bema's name has been going on these last few months?"

"Too much. Far too much for you to hear." She looked up at him, her face expressionless. "You know that Théodred rode to Helm's Deep despite the King's orders."

"Yes."

"Well… uncle, or rather Grima, called him back a few days ago and Théodred had a talk with the King... and as you might guess, it didn't end very well."

Èomer took Èowyn's hand and squeezed it, but he was at a loss for words. He had always admired Théodred, but these revelations made him uneasy.

"The men trust him, Èomer. Militarily he's been considered half a ruler already."

Èomer sighed. "Èowyn, you don't need to tell me this. You know I hold our cousin in high esteem… but I agree with the King. He can't keep fighting his father's will. I wish I had more time to try and talk to him, but soon I'll return to Aldburg again and I don't know when I will be back in Edoras again. I'm sorry, Èowyn."

He walked up to the table and poured himself a cup of water. When he turned to look at Èowyn, he found her gone and heard the door slam shut behind her. Èomer cursed. _Would things never settle down in this household?_

* * *

Èowyn stormed out of the hall and slowed down her pace as a cold breeze touched her cheeks and wiped away her tears. Her gaze swept over the open plains below the city and shivered at the shadow that had engulfed the grasslands. Reluctantly she turned her gaze away and her eyes fell upon Grima Wormtongue who was standing in the doorway of the Golden Hall.

"Why so upset, my lady?" Grima spoke softly and Èowyn quickly turned away. She had no desire to talk with the King's advisor now. However, to her great dismay Grima never let go once he had the chance.

"I understand this whole situation with the Prince is confusing and unbearable."

"Don't speak of my cousin in that tone." Èowyn said bitterly and looked away.

"I'm sorry if I've given offense, my lady. It's sad, it is… that the Prince should be in such a state."

Èowyn glared angrily at him. It was disgusting how he managed to make such crude words sound so sensible and kind. "What do you want?"

Grima walked closer and touched her arm gently. Surprised, Èowyn withdrew from the sudden and unwelcome touch, but the King's advisor grabbed her arm in a tight, yet gentle grip.

"What do you fear, my lady? You are the white lady of Rohan."

He pulled her closer and Èowyn grimaced in disgust. "Every day I see you on your King's side, weeping tears that have no reason… and every time you leave, you give him that same look of sadness. Èowyn... your fairness doesn't need to suffer this fate."

Èowyn looked into Grima's grey eyes and for a second she felt almost soothed by their coldness, but then she saw the lies and falseness behind the frame and she shook herself free from his grasp.

"Leave me alone, Grima. I do not wish to be treated like a child. If you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." She stepped past him and walked back inside the Hall.

Grima looked long after her with a small smile on his lips and his eyes ablaze with greed and desire.

Èowyn didn't know what to do or where to go. She wandered aimlessly through the hallways of Meduseld and ended up outside Théodred's bedroom. Out of habit she opened the door and closed it behind her. She walked up to the bed where her cousin was soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She bent down on her knees beside the bed, resting her head in her arms. And that's when she truly wept until she no longer had the strength to fight the doors of sleep.

-0-0-0-

At the break of dawn two days later, the men of Aldburg were preparing to leave. Èomer had summoned his _eored_ and had sent a courier, carrying a message from the King, to Helm's Deep.

He was alone in the royal stables, saddling Firefoot when someone appeared outside the stall. When Èomer looked up to see who it was, his mouth fell open in surprise.

Théodred chuckled slightly at the image of his cousin, but then his face became as expressionless as it had been. He took a few steps closer to Èomer and his voice was wavering as he spoke. Still, he managed to sound like the brother and cousin Èomer knew him as.

"Good morning, cousin. It has been far too long."

Èomer, not knowing what to say, simply nodded. But, as a weak smile appeared on Théodred's face, Èomer returned the smile. "Yes. It has been far too long."

They embraced and for a moment Èomer forgot everything that had happened in the past few months. That was before Thédored spoke again – all traces of a smile gone from his face.

"Èomer, I don't ask this lightly..." The words surprised him as much as the fact that Théodred had come down to speak with him. "But I must ask you... not as your Prince, but as your _brother_... _don't_ summon the riders of Westfold."

"You came down here to tell me this?" Èomer asked, but seeing the hurt in his cousin's eyes made him regret his words.

However, Théodred continued before he could apologize. "I know I should have spoken to you earlier… but there was nothing to say. You, like the rest of Edoras believed everything the King's advisor said of me… and then you were always in Aldburg whenever I rode from Helm's Deep."

Èomer looked into his cousin's dim eyes. He noted that Théodred looked unusually pale and even frail. He tried to read his cousin, but Théodred shielded his emotions well. When Èomer finally spoke, his words came out harsher and colder than he had intended.

"Théodred, you shouldn't be here. Grima…"

"_Don't_ mention his cursed name." Théodred spitted the words out as if they were poison. "What authority does he hold? Èomer, I never thought I would have to tell you this… but either you choose to trust your _kin_… or then a wretched stranger who claims to be the King's advisor."

Théodred didn't release his gaze from Èomer and his eyes pierced into Èomer's like burning arrowheads. "Tell me, cousin. Is it by the King's words you ride to Eastfold… or by Grima's?"

"Théodred." Èomer began, a bit unsure on how to approach his cousin, who for the moment seemed perfectly sane. "Don't…"

"Do I really look that ill to you, Èomer? Am I out of my mind?"

"I don't know, _my lord_." Èomer turned his attention back to Firefoot, but as he heard a thud from Théodred's direction he quickly turned to look at his cousin who had collapsed against the wall and was barely able to stand. Èomer reached out to help him, but Théodred waved him away.

Instead he said in a quiet, almost hollow voice, "Just remember what you fight for. That's all I ask..."

Èomer looked deep into those blue green eyes and saw the sense and conviction behind the weary and dimmed lenses. However, before Èomer got another chance to speak to his cousin, he could hear approaching voices and a moment later Èowyn and the court healer Fréya appeared outside Firefoot's stall with Èlfhelm following soon behind.

By then the poor horse was totally confused about the sudden amount of people around his stall and probably wondered whether he and his master would be going anywhere that day.

When Èowyn saw that Théodred was there, she quickly bent down beside her cousin and gave Èomer a questioning look – a look he answered with a shrug. He and Èlfhelm then helped a trembling Thédored to his feet and Èowyn took his hand.

"Please, cousin, let us take you back to your chambers. You are burning with fever and shouldn't be outside. I'll make sure you'll be left alone for a while."

As Èomer watched them go, he got the strange feeling that he might not see his cousin again in a long time. If ever...


	5. Théodred's Decision

_Disclaimer:__ I do not own any of the characters you recognize from the books and movies! They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema etc. BUT, characters you do not recognize, do belong to me!_

* * *

**Broken - Chapter IV**

**Théodred's Decision**

* * *

_Sweat was pouring down Èomer's face and his shoulder-long blond hair was glued to his neck as he and Théodred sparred in the warm spring day. Èomer swung his sword widely at his older cousin, who blocked it with ease and locked his own blade so that Èomer went spinning down to the ground. Loud giggles could be heard a few yards away as Èowyn was sitting on the ground laughing at her brother._

_Èomer was almost sixteen, four years younger than Théodred, and the Prince always managed to surprise him. Of course, Èomer had had his own moments of glory, but most times it was he who ended up headfirst in the dirt, and Èowyn did her best to remind him of that._

"_Èowyn, stop it. I stepped on a stone…"_

_Théodred chuckled at his cousin and helped him up. "I think we'll end our workout here, Èomer. You did well. Maybe one day you will have me pay for all the embarrassment I have caused you during practice."_

_Théodred took up Èomer's sword and handed it to him. "Just be mindful. I may decide to attack you when you least expect it."_

_Èomer shook off the dirt and flushed. "Next time, she will not be watching." He gave Èowyn an angry look and Èowyn grinned._

"_I will always be watching you, brother."_

_Théodred shook his head at his cousins. "Èomer, you'd better head up to the Hall and take a bath. I'll be up in a few moments. I just have a few things to take care of first."_

_Èomer was too tired and angry, not to mention dirty, to argue and headed off towards the Hall without another word._

_When he was out of sight, Théodred motioned for Èowyn to follow him and they made their way into an abandoned barn packed with hay and gears._

_Èowyn was boiling with enthusiasm, as she did every time Théodred taught her secretly how to fight. Théo handed her a wooden sword and took one for him self. He had taught Èowyn for over a month now and she was getting really good._

_Èowyn positioned herself with a good balance and raised the blunt blade in front of her as Théodred had instructed. She then moved to attack and swung the sword at her cousin. Théodred blocked it and went on to bring his sword on Èowyn, who blocked it with surprising accuracy._

_They went on like that for almost half an hour before Théodred stopped. _"_Good, Èowyn. You are becoming quite a challenge."_

_Èowyn smiled. "I have a good teacher."_

_Théodred answered the compliment with a smile and suddenly brought the sword towards a surprised Èowyn. She managed to block it, but like her brother only half an hour before, she lost her balance and fell down into the hay. _

_Usually she would have crawled up again and fiercely started to bring Théodred down in revenge, but she had learned to control her emotions and accept her mistakes. Instead she began to laugh and Théodred looked a bit nervously around, hoping that no one had heard them._

"_We'd better head up to the Hall now, before we'll get caught. I'd hate to have to put an end to our little workouts."_

_Èowyn nodded and rose up. Théodred put the wooden swords back to their places and followed Èowyn out of the barn. Èowyn glanced longingly at the stables as they passed them, but Théodred put a firm hand on her shoulder. _

_"One day, perhaps. But, you are only twelve. Father would throw a tantrum if he found you on one of the war horses."_

_Èowyn sighed. "I'm growing too big for Faéla."_

_Théodred chuckled. "As are those colts for you. Sparring with your cousin is one thing, but riding one of those horses is a whole new challenge. It took me a long while to break Brego… and that was when I was seventeen."_

"_He's an exception."_

"_Why so, dearest cousin?"_

"_That horse is as stubborn and wild as his rider…" She muttered under her breath, stealing a glance at the Prince._

_Théodred chuckled. "Bema forbid me then to ever choose a mount for you, cousin."_

* * *

_**Edoras, the end of February, 3018 T.A.**_

Èowyn was kneeling in front of a big wooden chest in her chambers, working on opening the lock. As it swung open she lifted the heavy lid and took out her sword. When she had turned sixteen, the King had allowed her to take lessons to become a shield maiden and he had been amazed of her skills.

He had looked suspiciously at Théodred, but the Prince had remained expressionless. That day she had been given a real sword. The sword she was now holding.

Èowyn caressed the cool hilt and drew the shimmering blade out from its sheath. She hadn't touched it in several months and found it soothing to feel the cold steel in her hands. A knock on the door, however, interrupted her and she quickly put the sword back to its place and opened the door.

A young handmaiden stood outside. "Lady Èowyn, the riders are leaving now."

Èowyn quickly moved past her and made her way down to the courtyard, where Èomer's _eored_ was gathering. Many of the riders were already mounted, but Èomer was still standing beside Firefoot, talking to Èlfhelm. When he saw Èowyn he handed the reins to the other man and hugged his sister.

"We are leaving now, Èowyn. I hope we can return within a few weeks."

Èowyn forced a smile. "You've never made it faster than three."

"I hope you are not angry with me, sister… of what I said before."

Èowyn sighed. "I'm not angry. I was just a little surprised and disappointed to hear it from you."

Èomer took back the reins from Èlfhelm and mounted. "Take good care of yourself and Edoras while I'm gone… and Èowyn, take care of Théodred." He leaned forward so that only Èowyn and Èlfhelm could hear. "He might be right after all."

Èomer gathered the reins and spoke to his riders. "We ride to Aldburg."

"Have a safe ride, Lord Èomer." Èlfhelm said with a smile and took Èowyn to the side.

Èomer and his _eored_ rode out of the city and from the stairs of Meduseld, a pale man in black robes watched them leave with a self-satisfied smile on his twisted lips.

-0-0-0-

It was now four days since Èomer had left and Théodred was up and out of bed again. By now, the companies of Helm's Deep would be halfway across Rohan, having left Westfold in the hands of just a few _eoreds._

Théodred had avoided Wormtongue as much as he had been able to, but somehow he always managed to stumble into Théodred's way, and when he did, he was always wearing that same wretched smile. Thédored might had given up fighting against his own chains, but if the snake touched Èowyn, Théodred would kill him right on the spot. He didn't even care about the consequences.

When February changed into March it was more than a week since Èomer's departure and for the first time in a long while, Théodred was not in open quarrel with his father. The King had ordered him to stay inside the walls of Meduseld for another week, even though he had '_showed some progress in healing'_, but now Théodred was finally making his way down to the stables where Brego was standing impatiently in his stall.

The steed's usually shining dark coat was dirty and shaggy and his eyes were blank. When the horse saw its master, it lifted up its proud head and neighed demandingly as if to ask why on earth Théodred hadn't visited him for such a long time.

Théodred put a calming hand on the horse's neck and sighed. "Brego, look at you. You could at least have let the stable hands tend to you."

Brego snorted and put his head on Théodred's shoulder. The bond between the two of them was unusually strong and even the King had been surprised when his son had chosen the wild Westfold-bred steed ahead of all the other horses that certainly were more suitable. But, in Brego there had been a spark that Théodred had found in no other horse.

Knowing that the steed would never let him go before having groomed him, Théodred took up a brush and slowly started to work his way along the stallion's neck and down his sides and the back. Half an hour later, Brego was almost perfectly clean and Théodred was leaning on the steed's back, when Èlfhelm's voice interrupted him.

"My lord, may I speak with you?" The man was about to enter the stall, but a grim look from Brego stopped him. Théodred, who had known Èlfhelm since he was a boy, didn't want the man to feel unwelcome and forced a smile.

"Of course, Èlfhelm." He gave Brego one final pat and followed Èlfhelm to his quarters.

Once inside, Èlfhelm walked straight to a wooden table that lay in the middle of the small hall and invited the Prince to follow. Théodred looked down and saw a map of Rohan spread across the table.

"My lord…" Èlfhelm began. "I thought it best if we could discuss this out of reach from a certain royal advisor." He looked down at the map and ran his fingers across the Westfold. "My scouts have reported bands of Orcs on the other side of the river Isen, but also very close to Isengard. According to the reports, the Orcs have grouped quickly and are moving with great speed over the river and towards the western villages."

"It is as if they knew that the men were leaving for Eastfold." Théodred muttered in almost a whisper.

"Sorry, my lord?"

Théodred shook his head. "Nothing. I was just thinking out loud."

Èlfhelm looked at his Prince for a moment, pondering his words. "Do you mean, my lord, that this is not a coincidence?"

Théodred met Èlfhelm's gaze. "I don't _mean_ anything, Lord Èlfhelm. But it certainly is odd. Westfold is in the hands of only a few_ eoreds_, where of most of them are stationed far away from Helm's Deep. Erkenbrand's men are the only ones even fairly close to the Fords."

Èlfhelm nodded. "Lord Èomer was right then…"

"What do you mean?"

"We had a talk a few hours before he left and he said that you had warned him of Grima Wormtongue."

Théodred moved a bit uncomfortably, but Èlfhelm placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, my lord. No one knows... and I'm most certainly on your side. Anyway, he ordered me to stay watchful and as weird as it sounds, someone _did_ leave Edoras the following night."

"A courier?"

"Yes, one of the King's… or rather _Grima's_ men."

Théodred slammed a fist in the table and Èlfhelm jumped slightly at the sudden outburst.

"That snake. Now Westfold is without defense and the enemy knows it." He swept the map with his gaze, his eyes lingering at the small string that marked the Fords of Isen. After a moment he said, "How long will it take to summon all the remaining riders in Westfold?"

"If deftly done, you could have all in Helm's Deep in about two or three weeks."

"Yes, and if I do that the enemy will have an even easier job with their raiding." He fell down in the nearby chair so quickly that Èlfhelm instinctively ran to his side.

"My lord, aren't you feeling well?"

"I haven't felt well in a long while, Èlfhelm… as I'm sure you know."

The older man sighed. "No, I know you too well, my Prince. But, if I have done anything wrong regarding the past events here in Edoras, I apologize."

Théodred raised his hand to wave off the apology. "You have done nothing wrong, Èlfhelm. Besides, it's true. I'm not feeling very well."

"My lord...?"

"At least I can't be since I'm actually planning on disobeying my father again. I will ride to Helm's Deep and gather what few riders I can still find... and I don't think I will return for a while."

Èlfhelm nodded. He wasn't exactly surprised about Théodred's decision, but it worried him. Disobeying the King again would make all hell break loose in Edoras once he was gone. And still, Èlfhelm knew that he would have to let him go.

"When are you leaving, my lord?"

Théodred glanced thoughtfully at the map before saying, "At dawn."

* * *

_**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! I know it's kind of short, but I find it easier to update shorter chapters more often than longer chapters more seldom! I will update as fast as I can again! As long as the ideas keep coming, there will be no problems... and when they don't... well, let's take that problem when and if it happens.**_


	6. A Bitter Farewell

_Disclaimer:__ In case someone decides to start reading from chapter five, here's a disclaimer for you. I do NOT own the Lord of the Rings. You know, in case someone would confuse me with J.R.R. Tolkien..._

* * *

**Broken - Chapter V**

**A Bitter Farewell**

* * *

"At dawn, my lord?"

Théodred's boldness had caught him completely off guard, and Èlfhelm could nothing but stare at his Lord and friend. "My lord... as you well know, the King will not take kindly to this."

Strangely enough, the Prince chuckled. "That's right. Are there any riders here in Edoras that would be ready to leave so soon?"

Èlfhelm sat down on another chair, his mind torn between loyalty to the Prince and his sworn duty to the King. This open defiance against the King was a dangerous game for Théodred to play, but Èlfhelm admired the Prince all the more for it, and in the end the choice was easy.

"You could take Haldór's _eored_."

"He's under your command."

Just before those words, Èlfhelm had seen the Prince's barely visible breath of relief. Apparently he hadn't been entirely sure about where his friend stood.

Èlfhelm smiled and scratched his beard nonchalantly. "To entrust you with my men was never a question. And they'll be honored to serve under your command. I'll tell Haldór that you will be leaving at dawn."

Théodred smiled faintly in return. "Thank you, my friend."

When Théodred left Èlfhelm's quarters and wandered up to the Hall, he had the feeling that things might yet get hard before he left. He thought of heading to his chambers before his father or Grima would see him, but the King's voice stopped him in the main hall.

"Théodred?"

Reluctantly he approached his father who was sitting on the throne. Lately the King could be found more and more often in that adorned chair – a fact that Théodred didn't like at all. His father wasn't that old, and it wasn't that long ago that he still used to go out or ride his steed across the plains. Sitting on that cursed wooden throne all day long was not like Théoden son of Thengel at all.

As Théodred walked closer, a rare smile formed on the King's face. It wasn't much of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. The words he spoke next, surprised Théodred even more.

"Son, I will be dining at eight tonight and I wish you to dine with me."

Théodred wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. No one had dined with the King in a long time, unless it had been a big feast… and that was a very long time ago, too. In fact, if Théodred hadn't seen Èowyn with a bowl of soup or stew every now and then, he hadn't even known that the King still ate.

When Théodred realized the King was looking intensively at him, he bowed his head slightly. "Of course, father."

Théoden smiled, seemingly satisfied. He then dismissed Théodred, who walked straight to his room. There was much to be done in a short time, and the dinner with his father meant that he wouldn't get many hours of sleep before dawn.

When finally coming to his room, Théodred strode to the carved table by the window and rolled out one of the maps. It showed all of Westfold, Isengard and Fangorn Forest, and just one look at it made his mood sink. It would be no easy task to gather all the riders under his command – not without leaving parts of the land unguarded.

Théodred was so deeply in his thoughts that he didn't notice Èowyn entering the room until her soft voice broke the silence. "Théodred… what are you doing?"

Théodred jumped slightly at the sudden interruption and turned around. Upon seeing the map, Èowyn's curious face turned into a frown.

"You are leaving, aren't you?" She said quietly, gazing down at the map.

"Yes, Èowyn." Théodred said and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I'm leaving… and I trust you not to mention this to anyone."

"But, why?"

"You know why."

"Send Èlfhelm instead… there are others." Èowyn took his hand, but Théodred broke free.

"No. I cannot ask Èlfhelm to defy the orders of the King. If I go, I'm the one to blame."

Èowyn sighed and reached for his hand again. This time he didn't recoil from the touch. She shivered slightly at the coldness of his skin and for a long while they just stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. Finally Théodred broke the contact and leaned on the table.

"It's my duty, Èowyn, as the second Marshal of the Mark."

"You know what will happen if you go." Èowyn tried to consult him.

Théodred sighed. "Yes, and if that's how it'll be, then so be it. I don't care. I will not abandon Rohan. As long as there's still strength in me, I will protect our people."

Èowyn managed to smile, even though it was a sad smile. "So that's why you will be the first to fall?"

"If I must." The words hang in the empty air and Èowyn stared at her cousin.

After a moment of complete silence, she sat down on his bed and said quietly. "Èomer is in the Eastfold and you're leaving for Helm's Deep… I don't want to be left alone with…" Her voice broke off, but Théodred knew what she had meant to say.

"I'm sorry, Èowyn. I have to go… and I know you would too if you were in my position."

"How I wish I were." She snorted.

Théodred shook his head sadly. "Believe me, cousin, when I say that you _don't _want to be in my position. Not in these times."

Èowyn looked like she wanted to ask him what he meant, but decided against it. Some things were better unsaid.

* * *

When Théodred made his way to the throne room at eight, the King's usual private table was set for two. As Théodred waited in the shadows, his thoughts drifted off to the time when he and his father had come along well.

It was four years since Wormtongue had entered the King's side and even though the past year had been worst between father and son, the old bond had broken long before that. The King had quickly aged beyond his years, forcing a seventeen-year-old Èowyn to take care of her uncle while Théodred – as the newly anointed Second Marshal – rarely paid Edoras a visit.

Théodred was brought back to the present when Théoden, aided by Grima, entered the Hall.

"Good evening, father." He stepped out of the shadows and put on a good act of courtesy.

Théoden nodded and sat down by the table. Théodred followed and quietly sat down on his right side. Grima attempted to sit down on the King's other side, but Théoden stopped him.

"No. Please, Grima… I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I'd like to spend the evening alone with my son."

With a curt nod the advisor obeyed and left the Hall as the food had been served. Théodred noted that the cups of wine had already been poured, which was never done, and he wondered if Grima had decided to poison him or the King.

The first few minutes passed under silence as the King ate with better appetite than Théodred had seen him do in a long while. Théodred, however, didn't feel like eating at all. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn't find the words. His wine stood untouched and the red liquid floated like blood in the small goblet and made Théodred feel slightly dazed and sick.

He was not aware of the fact that the King was looking at him, but as he finally lifted his gaze, he saw those dim grey eyes burn into his own. Théoden put down the chop he was holding and cleaned his hands in his napkin.

"What is it, son? You have barely touched your food."

"It's fine." Théodred lowered his gaze before saying, "Is there a special reason to why you wanted me to dine with you?"

"Does a father need a reason to dine with his son?"

"Considering our splendid relationship… yes." The words came out quicker and more sarcastically than Théodred had intended, but the King smiled with a slight chuckle.

"You are right. But, it doesn't have to be that way."

Théodred didn't respond. The cold truth was too bittersweet. It was true that it didn't have to be like this between father and son, but as of tomorrow it would be even worse. As for now, he tried his best to change the subject.

"Have there been any news from Darrowdale?"

The King shook his head. "None, except for last week's report on more Orc attacks. However, I do believe Èomer is capable of handling the situation. Besides, Grimbold and his men are with him, too…"

_What?_ Théodred's thoughts were reeling. Grimbold was in the Eastfold? How many had they left in Helm's Deep? Only Erkenbrand's men?

"Am I excused?" Théodred said after a moment. Théoden seemed both surprised and displeased by this, but nodded.

Théodred bowed in response and hurried to his room. It was already late, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Èowyn was probably awake, too, but Théodred wanted to be alone. However, his wishes were not granted as an oily voice came from the doorway mere moments later.

"Your _Highness_… here is your draught."

Théodred turned around, a retort on his tongue, but to his surprise the King was there, too. With an ill-willed smile, Grima gave him the cup and Théodred had no choice but to take it.

"Thank _you_, Grima. I will take it."

Grima's eyes sparkled as he spoke. "I had hoped you would take it now. Just to be sure that you take it, your Highness. I know it's not one of the most tasteful draughts."

Théodred glanced sideways at his father, but the King remained expressionless. With a sigh, Théodred emptied the cup. When he had swallowed, he looked challengingly at Grima, the bitter liquid still burning his throat.

Grima simply smiled and then turned around to look at Théoden. "My liege, I think it's time for bed. It has been a long day… and the Prince needs sleep, too."

Grima led the way out of the room and they vanished into the shadows of the Hall. When Théodred was sure they were gone, he bent down over the chamber pot and threw up the poisonous medicine. Never again would he swallow that stuff.

After a nearly sleepless night, Théodred woke up an hour before dawn. The Golden Hall would still be asleep and he could slip out unnoticed.

Rubbing his eyes from sleep, he quickly dressed in tunic, breeches and mail, only leaving his armor plait behind. He would fetch it when all the arrangements had been made.

Whereas the Golden Hall was silent, the stable yard was not. It was still damp outside from the night, but far away in the east the sun was slowly rising behind the mountains as men and horses were geared up for the ride west.

-0-0-0-

When Théodred had vanished through the doors, Èowyn emerged from the shadows and stared after him a long while, unsure about what to do. Her senses told her to tell the King his son was leaving, but her heart told her to let her cousin go. Westfold could be in need of him, but she couldn't let him go just like that.

After all, he was the one who had taught her patience – to never rush into things. And wasn't _he _rushing into things now? Wasn't he running away?

With a heavy heart Èowyn made her decision.

-0-0-0-

By the time Brego was saddled, dawn had already broken and the riders were almost ready to leave. Théodred led Brego outside and asked a stable boy to hold him. He was just about to head back up to the Hall when Èlfhelm grabbed his arm.

"My lord, I do hope you know what you are doing. The King won't forget this in a hurry."

Théodred turned to face the older rider and nodded. "I know… and it's my choice."

"Bema bless you then, my lord. Hurry."

Théodred smiled quickly at Èlfhelm before making his way back to the Hall and his chambers. Once in his room, he quickly gathered his belongings and was fastening the last straps of his armor when Èowyn appeared in the doorway.

"You shouldn't keep the door open."

He smiled. "Why? Should I expect my cousin to sneak up behind me and stab me in the back?"

Èowyn didn't smile at the joke. In fact, she seemed paler than usual and it looked like she had been crying.

"Is something wrong, Èowyn?"

"Don't go…"

Théodred took up his sword, strapped it to his belt and took his helmet. "I must go… before it's too late. Farewell, cousin."

He left the room and Èowyn cried desperately after him. "It _is_ too late, Théo…"

Théodred made his way to the front doors, but just as he was about to open them, a cold and stern voice stopped him. "If you walk through that door, there's no coming back."

A chill went through Théodred's body, but he turned around and saw his father and Grima approaching. "You shall no longer defy my orders."

Théodred held back his anger with great effort as he spoke. "I will no longer watch from the side when _our _people are dying. If you won't welcome me here again, then so be it."

With that he stormed out of the Golden Hall and descended the stairs. The voice that called after him was that of pure anger and outrage.

"That's it then. You went too far."

Théodred didn't look behind him, but he knew that his father was standing at the top of the stairs with Grima by his side and Hama and Gamling behind him. The King lowered his voice slightly as he spoke again, but Théodred could still hear him clearly. "You are disgracing my house and honor. You are no son of mine…"

Théodred continued to walk towards Brego and took the reins from the shocked stable boy and mounted. Brego, sensing the tension in the air, shifted nervously beneath him. Théodred spoke calmly to him and then called for the riders to mount. As the men rode out of the city, Théodred lingered to look at his father with a last daring gaze.

"Farewell, then." It was but a whisper, but in his heart it was a cry. He knew he wouldn't return…and this was a bitter farewell. But, his choice was made. Théodred urged Brego on and rode west without a second glance at his home.


	7. Western Gales

_Disclaimer:__ Not mine!_

* * *

**Broken - Chapter VI**

**Western Gales**

* * *

_**Westfold, March 10th, 3018 T.A.**_

The men stared grimly at the sight before them, occasionally throwing unsure glances at their commander. Most of the cottages were burned down and only a few stood wavering in the strong gale. There were no survivors, however. The villagers hadn't even seen the dawn break.

Théodred looked expressionlessly at the dreadful scene, but his mind was overtaken by grief for the people and boiling with hatred for the Orcs. This village was the first one to have been completely destroyed and the loss was devastating.

Théodred gathered the reins and turned Brego around to face the men. "Look for survivors, but don't be too hopeful."

The men spread into small groups and started to search the burned ruins for any signs of life. Théodred dismounted as well and walked up to a nearby heap of brick and wood. It was two days since he had left Edoras with barely two hundred men and he hadn't expected to run into this so fast.

An outrider had reported that a band of Orcs roamed the plains some miles away from Théodred's location and the men had ridden quickly to hunt them down. They had killed the Orcs only hours before dawn, but it had been too late. When reaching the nearby village, the Orcs had already been there.

As the men started to come back empty-handed, Théodred sighed. He hadn't expected them to find anything, but the truth was hard to accept.

One of the riders walked up to the Second Marshal and stood there for a while before daring to break the silence.

"We found no survivors, my lord. What are your orders?"

Théodred turned his gaze away from the burned village and looked west towards the mountains. "We ride to Helm's Deep... but first we bury the bodies."

The village had been small and it didn't take long for the riders to bury the few bodies that still were recognizable. Before mid-morning the riders were ready to leave.

As they rode towards Helm's Deep, Théodred wondered how long it would take for his father to reach him. Although the King himself was likely indifferent about his son's whereabouts, Grima Wormtongue wanted for sure to enchain the King's lawful heir.

As long as he lived, the people of Rohan would regard Théodred as their future King. Mere words wouldn't undo that. During his almost five years as Second Marshal of the Mark, he had positioned himself in the hearts of his men and to them Westfold had no other commander.

* * *

When the riders arrived at Helm's Deep, a much smaller amount of men than Théodred had hoped for was there to greet them. Théodred dismounted and handed Brego over to one of the stable hands, before making his way up to the Hornburg. The stairs were packed with young soldiers and Théodred grabbed one of them by the shoulder, asking the surprised youth to fetch Béorath.

When coming into the war room, Théodred quickly spread a map across the table and started to remove his armor. A few minutes later, the door opened and a bearded man in his late forties entered.

"Welcome back, my lord. I'm surprised, though, that you wished to see me so urgently upon your arrival. How can I be of service, my lord?"

Théodred turned to look at the man and smiled tiredly. "You disappoint me. Am I really so cruel? That I would only call on a friend when I _needed_ him?"

Béorath chuckled, knowing that the Prince was jesting. He was a strong man with a thick beard and light brown hair. He was well respected among the men and Théodred admired the man for his resolve to remain castellan of Helm's Deep, even though he must miss riding with his _eored_. However, nearing his fiftieth winter, the man had other valuable virtues as well.

"Alright, I need your counsel." Théodred admitted, his eyes meeting Béorath's.

"_You_ need _my_ counsel, my lord? That's unheard of." He moved to help Théodred with the last straps of the armor, but his smile faded upon seeing the Prince's grave face.

"I had expected word from Edoras to have reached you already. But, never mind that … all I need is to know how to reach Erkenbrand. I heard Grimbold rode to Eastfold with a large portion of the riders."

Béorath frowned. "You should know, my lord, that Grimbold did not leave willingly. He knows the threats at the western borders. He was fuming when the orders came from Edoras."

Théodred nodded, not releasing his gaze from the map. When Béorath saw his gaze, he sighed.

"Around five hundred men are spread out guarding the West-march and the border… but that's all. With good fortune, Erkenbrand may have about two hundred riders at the Fords… "

Théodred hesitated a moment before saying, "When the riders left Westfold, several attacks from the mountains and from across the river were reported. What happened? Were they stopped?"

Béorath looked down, not able to look into the Prince's eyes. "The attacks coming from across the Fords were stopped, but the ones coming from the mountains… there just wasn't enough riders."

"That's what I was afraid of. The enemy knew when and where to strike."

Béorath looked at his commander with a troubled frown. "How could they have known?"

"I have no doubt about that either. Information concerning our forces has been leaking out lately… and that leak is in Edoras… right by the King's side."

Béorath frowned. _Could it really be? Was the King's advisor involved?_ "My lord, if I may…?"

"No, Béorath." Théodred cut him off. "I don't wish to speak about that. There are other things to discuss."

Béorath nodded understandingly and showed the Second Marshal where the riders were patrolling.

"In addition to Erkenbrand's men, there is a possibility that Fréawan's riders are somewhere in the north-west."

"How many are here in Helm's Deep?"

"Not many. Maybe around three hundred, counting the riders you brought from Edoras."

Théodred nodded. "Send a messenger to Erkenbrand and tell him to leave three hundred men to guard the Fords, but I want _him_ back here in Helm's Deep. With so few riders left we can't spare them much rest, but I'll patrol the Fords myself, if I have to."

Béorath nodded and was about to get the messenger when Théodred's voice stopped him at the door. "And Béorath, tell Erkenbrand to hurry. His… _friend_ needs him."

Béorath frowned at Théodred's last words. Did he really think that the men of Westfold would forget who their Prince was? Well, Béorath would tell the messenger that _Prince _Théodred's orders were to be carried out with haste.

* * *

As Théodred made his way out of the Hornburg he let his gaze sweep over the Deeping Comb. Inside the Wall the ground was covered with tents and the sound of steel, horses and talking men desperately tried to make up for the lack of forces in the Deep. Still, the truth was inevitable and the sight of it couldn't have been more discouraging.

_One thousand men in all of Westfold? How could it be? _That was less than one fourth of the amount Théodred had ordered there two months ago.

When Théodred saw the messenger leave, he wondered how long it would take for his father to send word to him. It surprised him that two days had passed without a single report from Edoras.

Absent-mindedly Théodred wandered down to the stables, hoping that the horses could make him forget about the events in Rohan for a while. This spring's crop of foals had been good and Theódred was proud to know that some of the best warhorses came from Helm's Deep and the surrounding plains.

The horses were strong and sound, swift and brave, and Théodred remembered Èomer having said that he would trade a dozen of his best horses in exchange for one Westfold mount. Théodred chuckled lightly at the memory. It was no secret that the Third Marshal envied Théodred, or at least _had _envied. In a good way...

When Théodred stopped at Brego's stall and patted the steed on the neck, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned around and saw a young woman standing beside one of the mares, talking to it.

The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Théodred couldn't remember where he had seen her.

-0-0-0-

Some forty miles from Helm's Deep, the men of Erkenbrand were camping for nightfall at the delta of the River Isen and the Deeping Stream, when a messenger rode into the camp and halted his horse.

"Riders, I bring news from Helm's Deep. Prince Théodred has resumed command over Westfold and wants all riders to regroup at the Deep."

When the man mentioned Théodred, the riders shared amazed and hopeful looks. The King's son hadn't been seen in Westfold for over a month and now the riders suddenly had their leader back.

"Lord Erkenbrand, the Prince ordered three hundred men to stay by the Fords, but he wished for your return."

Erkenbrand, who had been in his tent when the messenger had arrived, was now standing in front of it with a grim expression on his face. He knew all too well why the Prince wanted him back to the Deep.

"Tell Lord Théodred that he will have his riders before dusk in two days. But why this haste?"

The messenger leaned closer to speak for his ears only. "The Prince is defying the King's orders. When word from Edoras reaches Helm's Deep, the Prince will have no choice but to obey, unless he wants a massacre."

Erkenbrand nodded, but it was obvious that he was not pleased with the news. He had known the Prince since Théodred had been old enough to ride with the men and these words did him no justice.

"I would follow Lord Théodred to whatever end he takes me. There are not many riders I can give the Prince… but we will come, and you can tell him that these men will stay loyal to him… and him only if need be."

The messenger nodded and mounted the horse. Then he vanished into the night.

-0-0-0-

_**Edoras, March 14th 3018 T.A.**_

Grima Wormtongue paced restlessly in his private rooms. This change of tied didn't please him at all. Though the King had made it clear that Èomer was to success him, it had still just been an open statement and Théoden seemed to regret his actions.

Grima had also underestimated the King's son badly and it had cost him a lot. Everything had been under control, but now Théodred was somewhere in the Westfold gathering the few men who were still there.

As if it couldn't get any worse, reports from Eastfold said that the Orcs were defeated and the companies of Westfold would soon be returning to Helm's Deep. That meant that Westfold would be fully mustered and with Théodred in charge.

He had already informed his master that the Prince would no more be a threat to their plans, but now he had to tell him the bad news… unless he found a way to bring Théodred down.

However, with him being in Westfold it wasn't an easy task. Not was it just hard to reach the Second Marshal, but he also had all of Westfold on his side.

Grima clenched his fingers and slammed his fist in the table. This had to end. Rohan would fall and he would get his prize. A smile crept onto his lips as he thought about it. _His prize_…

-0-0-0-

Six days had passed since Théodred had ridden out of the city, and Èowyn couldn't help feeling guilty about the bitter farewell. What had she been thinking when alerting the King of his son's departure? Her uncle had been furious the first two days, but now he had calmed down and Èowyn had even seen a hint of sadness in his grey eyes.

As for the King's advisor, he had been in a bad mood ever since that day. The King had told Grima not to challenge Théodred by force, but to approach him prudently. However, it was obvious that Grima had been pleased with Théoden's outrage and was now angry that the King was regretting it.

When Èowyn later brought food to the King, he was alone and motioned for her to sit down. Surprised of the invitation, she quietly sat down and tried to look comfortable.

The King, however, noticed her discomfort. "Èowyn… it's a long time ago I've seen you smile. The absence of both your brother and… your cousin has made you distant. Dear niece, is there anything I can do?"

_There's a lot you could do, uncle Théoden._ Èowyn thought as she tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy the King, but still wouldn't be too far from the truth.

"My lord… I'm worried about my brother and cousin. Especially Théodred. He loves you, Uncle. He's just too devoted to his people to care about what's best for _him_."

"I know, Èowyn… and that's what worries me, too. I'm angry and disappointed in him. How could I not be? But, I'm also thinking that maybe I was a bit too harsh."

"Is he still your heir?" Èowyn asked hesitantly and Théoden sighed heavily.

"I'm afraid not, Èowyn. I wish he would come back to be my son again… but he cannot unpunished defy his King's orders and betray his land and people."

Èowyn looked down at her fingers, not knowing what to say. It was horrible to hear the King speak of his son as someone who had betrayed his land and people. Wasn't that exactly why her cousin had left? As _not_ to betray his people…

"He accuses Grima of treason and then he himself rides away with two hundred men… like a rebel." Théoden paused to take a spoonful of the soup.

"You don't go against the King like that… and he knows it. Grima suggested that I take away all of Théodred's rights as Second Marshal and commander of the Westfold… but, I asked myself if I really wanted that… to force my son here to live in captivity and shame with nothing left."

Théoden fell silent and looked into the distance for a long while before saying, "No, I don't want that."

-0-0-0-

_**Helm's Deep, March 15th, 3018 T.A.**_

Upon the fifth day of Théodred's arrival in Helm's Deep, good news finally reached the stronghold. Erkenbrand was on his way with three hundred riders and would reach Helm's Deep by nightfall. Also, the _eoreds_ at the Fords had managed to stop another Orc attack and the western plains were quiet, save for the strong gales that played among the grasslands.

Théodred was overlooking the maps again when the horn at the gates blew and he could hear riders arrive. Moments later, a young soldier knocked on the open door.

"My lord, Erkenbrand has arrived and wishes to speak with you."

"By all means, send him in."

The soldier left and Théodred looked down at the map with a hint of a smile on his face. At this rate, maybe the King would never reach him.

Théodred didn't notice the presence of Erkenbrand until the man stood beside him. Slightly startled, Théodred turned to smile welcomingly at the older rider.

Erkenbrand didn't answer the smile, but grabbed the stunned Prince into a brotherly embrace. "It's great to have you back here, Théodred. It's been too long. What news do you bring from Edoras?"

Théodred's smile faded. "Not good news, I am afraid. The King barely recognizes his own kin from strangers… and I'm no longer in his good graces. The reason why I'm here is because of the lack of riders in Westfold. Had I been able to come earlier, I would have, but…" Théodred paused a while to ponder his words. "I was being held under a tight watch."

Erkenbrand nodded, knowing that Théodred wouldn't want to speak about it. "What do you have in mind for the riders, my lord?"

Théodred's face remained expressionless as he spoke. "It's time to reassemble the forces of Westfold. We have only one thousand riders to spare, but it can't be helped until the companies in Eastfold return. I will take an escort to the Fords and take command of the Isen patrol…"

This was exactly what Erkenbrand had been afraid of. He made a move to protest, but Théodred raised his hand, wordlessly asking him not to push the matter. And, somehow the older rider understood. The Prince needed to get back to the plains.

"Three hundred riders will have to do for patrolling the surrounding area of Helm's Deep and guarding the villages from attacks from the mountains. But, I want two _eoreds_ instead of one down in the West-march. I want no more burned villages."


	8. Hope

_Disclaimer:__ I think you know what I'm going to say, so let's just go on with the story…_

* * *

**Broken - Chapter VII**

**Hope**

* * *

_**Helm's Deep, March 20th, 3018 T.A.**_

A cool breeze played with Théodred's blond hair as he stood atop the wall, watching the riders leave. The sound of hooves echoed in the Deeping as three hundred horses galloped down the runway. _Faire and swift mounts carrying strong and bold men of Rohan. Banners held high and spears pointing towards the vast sky._

Théodred hated to send the men out without joining them himself, but he was still needed in Helm's Deep. Yesterday, Erkenbrand's second in command had taken two hundred riders to the West-march and now Erkenbrand himself was riding to the lookout of Westridge.

When the Deeping was silent again, Théodred strode down to his field tent. Once the men had left and only Théodred's escort of one hundred men remained, there was nothing to be done and he needed to be alone for a moment.

When Théodred reached his tent, he stepped inside and started to take off his tunic and shirt. Some of his old scars had started reddening and itching, and though they weren't that bad, Théodred was still reminded of their existence every now and then.

Walking to the basin, he splashed fresh water over his face, wincing slightly as the water ran down his chest and back, touching the cuts and bruises. He knew that some of them probably needed better care, but the water had to do for now.

The worst thing, though, was to hide the scars from his men. He wondered how they would react if they found out that their Prince hadn't received those cuts in battle… but by the hands of the King's advisor.

And the pain he himself felt inside was far worse than any physical pain. It was pain that had haunted him for more than half a year, and he knew he wouldn't get rid of it. It was his burden to bear.

Théodred was pulling on a clean shirt and was tying it up when a female voice interrupted him.

"My lord?"

Surprised, Théodred walked up to the entrance and pulled aside the fabric. Outside stood the woman from the stables with linens and a tray of food in her hands. She blushed slightly as she saw his partially bare chest.

"I was asked to bring you some food, my lord. The kitchen hands said you haven't yet had breakfast."

Théodred didn't really feel like eating, but he knew the girl would be flustered if he refused.

As he stepped aside and motioned for her to enter, she timidly stepped past him, putting the tray on the table and the linens on the bed.

"Thank you." Théodred said without taking his eyes from her. After a moment of hesitation, he added, "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"We met briefly when you saved our village from a band of Orcs. My name is Dríana… my lord."

A tiny smile appeared on Théodred's lips. "How come you're here, my lady?"

Dríana blushed and dropped her gaze. She was far from being a lady, and even less so considering that she was in the presence of the crown prince. Unconsciously her eyes found his bare chest again, but as it made her blush even more she decided that it was better to look the prince in the eye.

"My uncle brought me and my sister here for protection. My cousin is one of the riders…"

"Your cousin?" Théodred said a bit curiously. "And who might that be?"

"His name is Déor, my lord. He rides with Lord Erkenbrand." She said and Théodred saw that she was getting more comfortable speaking with him for every passing moment. "He's an archer."

"Yes, I remember the name… a fine young rider."

Dríana smiled. "He will be pleased to hear that, my lord. He holds you in very high esteem. We all do."

Surprised, Théodred didn't quite know what to say in response. However, seeing the Prince's uncomfortable expression, Dríana quickly changed the subject.

"If you'll excuse me, my lord… I don't wish hold you from your stew any further. Please, eat as long as it's warm. You look like you need it, your Highness."

Before Théodred could say another word, she had vanished through the entrance, leaving him alone with his reeling thoughts and his shirt still unbuttoned.

-0-0-0-

At dawn the next morning, the men were going by their usual business when a rider was spotted coming towards the fortress. As he trotted his mount up the runway, the gates opened and one of the younger soldiers sprinted off to inform the Prince.

When Théodred made his way through the ranks of soldiers a few minutes later, the messenger bowed his head in recognition of the Second Marshal.

"My lord, I bring word from the Eastfold. The attacks have ceased and the riders of Westfold are returning. Lord Grimbold is bringing back the whole company immediately."

Théodred frowned, despite his relief. If Grimbold was returning, it meant that Westfold would soon be fully mustered again, but it also meant that Grima Wormtongue had reason to try and stop Théodred.

"Send word back to Grimbold that I will be waiting for him." Théodred said finally, talking directly to the messenger. "But tell him to be careful. He is needed in Westfold, and I don't want him to be held up by any complications on the way here."

The courier bowed his head, mounted the fresh horse he had been given and rode out of Helm's Deep.

Théodred stared long after him and hoped that he would reach Grimbold without complications. He had the feeling that Wormtongue wouldn't be too happy to find out that the riders of Westfold were returning.

* * *

_**Edoras, March 22nd, 3018 T.A**_

Word from Eastfold had reached Edoras four days ago and Èowyn was glad that her brother was coming home again, even if it was only for a short time. She knew, though, that he would be shocked to learn that Théodred had ridden to Helm's Deep.

Èowyn was standing outside the royal stables when she saw a lonely rider approach the city from the west. Frowning, she abandoned her tasks and quickly ascended the stairs to Meduseld. However, as she stood at the top, she hesitated. _What if the rider was carrying word from Théodred? He _was_ coming from the west after all._

She turned back around and descended the stairs quickly as the rider halted his horse. Upon recognizing Èowyn, he dismounted and greeted her.

"My lady, I'm in dire need of a rested mount as I need to reach Lord Grimbold as soon as possible."

Èowyn motioned for a soldier to bring water to both horse and rider, and then have another mount ready for the courier. She then led the man slightly aside.

"You come from Helm's Deep?"

"Aye, my lady."

"Do you have news from my cousin?" Èowyn asked hopefully.

"Yes, lady Èowyn… but my message is meant for Lord Grimbold alone."

"I understand, but is he well? I haven't heard anything from the Westfold since Théodred left."

"Aye, my lady. Lord Théodred is well, but he is worried that the Westfold companies will be delayed if they ride through here… and that is why I must ride in haste to meet them."

"Of course." Èowyn said with an encouraging smile. "But fear not. I think Lord Grimbold is aware of the complications and might be taking his riders straight to Westfold. When word reached Edoras of the riders' return to Aldburg, it spoke only of my brother Èomer."

"Thank you, my lady." The messenger took the reins of the horse that had been led up to him and set off towards southeast.

-0-0-0-

From his chamber window, Grima had seen the rider arrive and then leave with another horse, but he has been unable to see whom he had spoken to.

However, Grima was well aware of the fact that the courier was looking for the riders of Grimbold and that those riders were probably on their way to Westfold this very moment. For Grima it was not a bad thing. It was a disaster.

Striding restlessly in his chamber, Grima tried to solve the problem, but as long as Théodred was in charge over the riders, nothing would work. They would all ride to Westfold no matter what. Finally, Grima stormed out of the room and knocked almost down a servant who was just passing his quarters.

Not even paying a single look in her direction, Grima strode through the hallways to the King's quarters. Once Théodred was within his reach again, he would have him pay dearly for his resistance.


	9. Letters and Departure

_**A/N: [9/20/2012] If you have read this story before, I warn you. The ending of this chapter has been changed from its original version. Just so you know the reason for your confusion in case it occurs.**_

_Disclaimer: No, no and no! I do not own anyone else except Dríana and some of the other small characters popping up here and there..._

* * *

**Broken - Chapter VIII**

**Letters and Departure**

* * *

_**Helm's Deep, March 26th 3018 T.A.**_

Despite the wall of clouds in the east, the sky above Westfold was almost perfectly blue and the sun shone pleasantly, warming the usually cold stone of Helm's Deep.

Dríana had quickly gotten used to her new life inside the stronghold, but she missed home. At Helm's Deep there was no grass scented air to breathe and no quiet peacefulness. With riders coming and going it was never quiet. Not even in the dead of night.

Her days had been a mixture of work and boredom for several weeks, but now that Lord Théodred was back, she found herself enjoying the work (perhaps a bit too much). She knew, though, that he was far beyond her league and therefore it would remain her own little secret that her eyes sought the fair Prince a little too often. Perhaps it was for the best that he was now preparing his men to patrol the western borders. Then she wouldn't have to try and hide her feelings around him.

Sighing, she ascended the stairs of the Hornburg and made her way to the kitchens where her sister was helping one of the other servants. Dríana often wondered if the young girl truly understood what was going on around her. She had looked death in the eye when the Orcs had attacked their home, and she had seen what peril the riders risked every time they rode out to hunt down those foul creatures... but did she understand? As a girl of seven she should have been out playing on the plains...

Though deep inside Dríana knew that the days for play were long gone... and maybe Fréda knew that as well, because she never complained.

-0-0-0-

Outside the Deeping Wall, Théodred was sitting by his tent with Brego's saddle on his tights, enjoying the last few hours of sunshine. Despite the warmth Théodred shuddered as a breeze swept past. Some of the men had a cook fire going, but Théodred didn't feel like sharing their company. He was far too anxious about the reports from Westridge and the West-march, and he didn't want his mood to affect his men.

According to Erkenbrand, the plains close to Westridge were quiet and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred around the borders either, but Théodred wasn't ready to take any chances. He would have preferred to leave immediately, but with the imminent return of Grimbold it was better to wait. Once the riders arrived, he would leave four hundred men at Helm's Deep and take the rest to the Fords of Isen.

When Théodred was finished with the tack, he stepped into the tent and washed up. He was halfway through the washing when he heard the distant thunder of hooves and men shouting outside his tent. Alarmed Théodred hurried outside and strode quickly to the other side of the camp. There, he stopped in his tracks.

A company of some three thousand riders were slowing down by the campsite, and as their commander rode forward on his chestnut horse, Théodred allowed himself to smile. _Grimbold._

The man took off his helmet, and despite being one of the Prince's closest friends he bowed his head respectfully as Théodred stopped in front of him."My lord Marshal."

"Lord Grimbold, your safe return is a relief... and couldn't have better timing."

"Aye, my lord." Grimbold said solemnly, but then his lips turned into a beaming smile. "But by the grace of Bema, it's good to see you. It's been _two_ bloody months."

_Bloody, indeed._ Théodred thought, but as he guided Grimbold past the rows of tents, he returned the smile. "It's good to see you, too, old friend. Now come, you must be weary after your long ride, and tomorrow we must be on our way. I can't delay it any longer."

Grimbold nodded, eager about the prospect of a bed and fresh sheets instead of the cold ground and dirty blankets. However, despite his weariness, Théodred's uneasy demeanor and somewhat thinner frame didn't go unnoticed... though the Prince made a good effort of not showing it.

* * *

That night Théodred was pacing restlessly in his tent, unable to sleep. With Grimbold and his riders back in Westfold, Théodred had been freed from his recent worries only to be overtaken by new ones. There still had been no word from Edoras. At first he had been grateful of it, but now it made him uneasy... as if a bigger storm was on its way.

After yet another hour of pacing, Théodred finally lay down and tried to sleep, but he was soon woken by noises coming from outside. A horse snorted as if it had just ran several miles without rest, and hushed voices soon approached Théodred's tent.

As Grimbold stepped inside with an apologetic bow, Théodred was already on his feet. Without a word, the older man nodded at someone outside the tent and then another man entered. He had shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted, but he stood in front of the Second Marshal without as much as a slouch.

Théodred fought the urge to ask the man his business. Just one look upon the man's garment made him dread the answer. Instead he waited for the courier to speak.

"My lord, forgive the late hour..."

Théodred had to suppress a smile. It had to be closer to dawn by now.

"But I bring word from the King."

The words left a bitter echo in the air and Théodred reluctantly took the letter the man was offering him. The seal was unmistakably the King's and the handwriting matched that of the King's, too... but the mind behind it couldn't have been.

It took his every nerve not to lose control right there and cry out in anguish. After a few shaky breaths, Théodred looked up and spoke to the messenger, his voice cool and unrevealing. "Thank you… but I'm afraid I can't heed these orders."

The courier's face grew pale. Apparently he had been informed about the contents of the letter. "My lord...?"

"You heard me." Théodred responded curtly, his face as blank as his mind. "Besides, the King already knows that I won't oblige."

The courier stiffly bowed his head and left the tent. Grimbold was about to leave, too, but upon seeing Théodred turn away and cover his eyes with one hand, the older rider remained.

Théodred was still holding the letter, and as Grimbold drew nearer he offered it to him. Surprised, Grimbold took it and unfolded it. The content of the letter was grim from the beginning, but it was the last few lines that shocked him the most.

…_As your King I hereby deny you all your rights as Heir and Second Marshal of the Riddermark. You are to return to Edoras to await your punishment for treason against your King. If you choose to neglect these orders, you will be facing banishment or…_

Grimbold stopped reading. He had read enough and the last words were so shockingly outrageous that he couldn't even finish reading them.

"This can't be." He whispered barely audibly. "How can he...?

Théodred didn't say a word, afraid that his voice would break. He had faced his father's rage when leaving Edoras, but those words had meant nothing compared to this. This was on paper and with the King's seal on it.

"My lord?" Grimbold finally spoke again when he got no response. "What will you do? Surely you can't ignore…"

Théodred finally looked up. "No matter how things will proceed, one thing is sure. I will never bow before that snake of an advisor. Call me coward if you will... but I'm not going to Edoras."

Grimbold sighed sadly. "No, my lord. I wouldn't call you a coward. Reckless perhaps... but justly so."

"The King has threatened to have me indefinitely removed."

Grimbold winced at the words._ Indefinitely removed. The Crown Prince of Rohan... indefinitely removed? _He just couldn't believe it. The people_ loved _Théodred. Surely the King knew that he couldn't possibly undo _that_.

-0-0-0-

As the sun rose above the mountains the next morning, Théodred ignored Grimbold's protests and made his disinheritance known to the men... hoping in vain that they would be wise enough to see that they, too, risked banishment if they followed him. But, no one said a word or made a move to leave. And that loyalty touched him deeply.

Quietly, and in a far darker mood than the night before, the men quickly emptied the grounds outside Helm's Deep and then rode off across the plains. As they crossed the Deeping Stream, Théodred sent four hundred riders to join the men in Westridge and told the captain to inform Erkenbrand of all the circumstances... including the King's letter.

For Théodred, however, there was no time to concern himself with bitter thoughts. Halfway to the western borders one of the scouts picked up the trail of some thirty Orcs, and the riders were soon off to hunt them down.

Less than two hours later the men caught the beasts and had them slaughtered long before the sun had started to set behind the mountains. No one spoke of it, but they could all plainly see it. These had been no ordinary Orcs, but bigger and stronger... and not bothered by daylight.

As if that alone wasn't troubling enough, news from the Fords of Isen soon followed. Re-enforcements were direly needed as Orc attacks became more frequent and the number of rohirrim grew scarcer.

It was with cold determination and a heavy heart that Théodred told his men that they would ride through the night.

* * *

As they arrived at the Fords the next day, an eerie sight awaited them. On one of the hilltops a pile of Orc carcasses were burning and here and there were bodies of horses and men that had yet to be buried.

Following the hoof prints that led away from the Fords, Théodred's men rode onward until they ran into a small group of riders. Théodred took off his helmet and dismounted as the rider in command, Ceorlaf, made his way up to the Prince. While the other riders were dismounting, Ceorlaf drew Théodred and Grimbold slightly aside.

"My lords, it's good to have you here."

"What's the situation?" Théodred demanded, his eyes sweeping the camp of riders before settling on Ceorlaf.

"A band of wildmen crossed the river two nights ago and took Haldór's men by surprise. Only a few survived and several horses were slain. The wildmen retreated when we arrived, but no doubt they'll try again. Them and the half-Orcs..."

"What about Haldór himself?"

"Wounded, my lord, but very much alive."

Théodred nodded quietly, then put a hand on Ceorlaf's shoulder. "You've done well, Ceorlaf. I will take the men under my command for now. Together we will drive these scavengers off our lands."

-0-0-0-

It was late when Théodred left his tent and strode through the camp. The air was calm, but there was a chill in it, making Théodred feel uneasy. His mind focused on every movement and sound as he continued to walk towards the trees. After five days of patrolling around the Fords, he needed a moment of solitude. Not once since they had left from Helm's Deep had he stopped to brood on what his own future would bring. There simply hadn't been time or space for that.

But now the reality was starting to sink in and he was struggling to maintain his composure around his men. In action it was easy to forget about everything else, but at night it all came back to him. _What was he to do?_ The burden of a kingdom lay on his shoulders and yet he had no claim to it. Not anymore. The trap had closed. If he returned to Edoras he would probably never set foot outside the city again... and if he left Rohan he feared that his people would never see a hopeful dawn again.

His place was here anyway. With his men. But how long would it last?

A cracking sound made its way through the silent forest, bringing Théodred from his thoughts. His hand moved to his sword as he looked around. He could still see the lights from the camp and some of the men going by their business, but he doubted that one of them had ventured into the trees. A cold breeze swept past and sent shivers down his spine. He wasn't alone.

When a hoarse male voice broke the silence, Théodred had his sword out of its sheath in a blink. "Well now, a lonesome Prince without his guard." A hooded man stepped forward. "Our Master wasn't exaggerating when he told us of your arrogance."

The man came closer and Théodred could see that he was not a man of Rohan. When Théodred moved towards him, six others emerged from the shadows with drawn weapons.

_The trap had closed indeed. _And he had been stupid not to see it coming. If Grima Wormtongue couldn't get him on his knees on the cold stones of Meduseld, then he would find another way – a way not even the King could do anything about.

Not lowering his sword, Théodred faced the men. "Who are you?"

The man in front of him smirked. "Who we are, is of no importance. It's whom we seek that matters. You see, our Master gave us orders to find you, _Prince _Théodred. He even told us _where_ to look."

Théodred's face paled. Were they talking about Grima or someone _else?_ For a moment the face of Saruman surfaced in his mind and in that moment Théodred son of Théoden knew that the White Wizard had betrayed Rohan.

"Lucky for us, it wasn't that hard to get to you..." The man chuckled. "And unlucky for the lad."

One of the six stepped forward, dragging a body and throwing it down in front of Théodred. With just one quick look he could tell that it was young Dagonár, the son of Béorath. His anger flared, but somewhere deep inside guilt arose as well. This is why his men should never have followed him out of Helm's Deep.

The stranger's voice pierced through the air again. "It's a pity, though. He was such a young lad... and handsome."

Théodred already had his sword raised and he would have cut off the man's head if one of his comrades hadn't sent an arrow flying in Théodred's direction. He managed to dodge it, but the short second he was off balance gave the man in front of him time to draw his own sword. As he swung it around, Théodred moved away from its path and brought his sword defensively in front of him.

The stranger smirked and in the next instance Théodred could see another blow coming from the side. Swiftly his blade moved to parry it, but that gave the first man an opening and he slashed his sword at Théodred's side, ripping through fabric and flesh.

Théodred ignored the pain, but before he could make another move, someone grabbed him from behind and forced him down hard on his knees and his sword was kicked out of his hand. The man who obviously was the leader retrieved the sword and bent down in front of Théodred.

"I was told to tell you this before the end. You've failed, _your Highness_… and all of Rohan will know it."

Théodred then felt something hard hit his head and his vision blurred. Someone tied his hands, the rope cutting painfully into his skin, and the last thing he saw before being surrounded by total blackness, was Dagonár's body being pierced with_ his_ sword and then left in the dirt for the men to find at dawn.


	10. Ill News

_Disclaimer:__ Do you really think I own it? No, I didn't think so…_

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**Broken - Chapter IX**

**Ill News**

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_**The Fords of Isen, April 4**__**th**__**, 3018 T.A.**_

Grimbold woke up with a start as someone shook him by the shoulder, and as he opened his eyes he found a pale looking Ceorl looking down at him. One look at his weary face brought Grimbold to his feet faster than he had thought possible that early in the morning.

When Ceorl spoke, his voice was low and strained. "My lord, there's been a…"

_An attack… _was Grimbold's first thought, but no, it couldn't be. It was far too quiet for that, and Ceorl didn't look like a man just returned from an Orc ambush. Though if that weren't the case, then what in the name of Bema would have him awake at this hour?

"There's something you need to see." Ceorl finally said, motioning for Grimbold to follow.

It was still dark outside and the men were fast asleep, but as they reached the westernmost part of the camp Grimbold noticed that several of Ceorl's own men were up and about... their anxious eyes following the two lords as they passed.

Frowning, Grimbold looked at Ceorl. "What's going on?"

"It's Béorath's son, my lord." Ceorl said with a weary sigh. "One of the guards found his body..."

"_Body?_" The question probably sounded stupid, but Grimbold couldn't help it. Death among the patrolling riders wasn't unusual, but it _was_ strange when it occurred during a quiet night and with no sound of alarm. The enemy didn't simply kill _one_ man...

Ceorl, having paid Grimbold's exclamation no mind, quietly continued to lead the way through the woods. And then, as a small glade opened up before them, he finally stopped.

"There my lord... and please tell me I'm wrong in assuming that that is not the work of an Orc."

His face blank, Grimbold's eyes studied the body of Dagonár. His throat was cut cleanly open and blood covered a gash in his side, but the body wasn't maimed or ravaged in any other way. Like Ceorl feared, this was not the work of Orcs...

"But if not Orcs, then what?" Grimbold said, his eyes unable to leave the young lad's lifeless form. _And why just one man?_

Squinting in the torch light, his eyes searched the ground, looking for signs of struggle. The ground, however, was hard enough for even horses to trample it without leaving much of a track, and he was almost ready to give up when his eyes suddenly caught the glimpse of steel.

Ceorl followed his gaze and frowned. Dirt covered the blade and in the dim pre-dawn light it was almost impossible to see, but there it was… and even from afar Grimbold could tell that it was no Orc blade.

As he picked up the sword, a chill went through his body. He knew that blade_. _"Does... Lord Théodred know about this?"

Ceorl's face betrayed no emotion, but his voice gave away his uncertainty. "You do realize that…"

"Anything is possible until proven otherwise, Lord Ceorl." Grimbold cut in, wondering whether Ceorl truly feared that the truth was that plain. Grimbold didn't blame him, though, for Ceorl didn't know the Second Marshal like he did.

"I'll go check on him." He turned around and was about to leave when he realized that Ceorl was looking at him questioningly. Grimbold sighed. "Give the men whatever explanation you see fit... but it's best if..."

"It can wait... until you've spoken to Lord Théodred."

With a curt nod, Grimbold left and made his way back to the camp. When he reached his Lord's tent, he stopped outside and took a deep breath before calling his name. When there was no answer, Grimbold pushed the flap aside, but then stopped as his eyes looked around the empty tent.

_No, no... oh please, no. _For a brief moment Grimbold couldn't move. Théodred had never simply vanished, leaving his men behind. His mind told him that the Prince had just decided to wake up early and enjoy a moment of solitude, but the adorned sword in his hand told him otherwise… and it made his stomach turn.

He was about to leave when a note on the cot suddenly caught his eye. Frowning, he picked it up and slowly read the quickly scribbled words...

_My good lords,_

_I imagine that my absence is worrying you by now, but I cannot tell you where I've gone. All I can say is that I do not intend to return. I'm truly sorry, but it's for the best. You may tell the King that he won't be seeing me again…_

Grimbold's hands went numb. This couldn't be. Never had such simple words been so incomprehensible. He looked down at the note again and stared at it for several minutes, but the words remained the same.

And then there was the sword – the sword that had lain in the mud by Dagonár's body. Just the thought of it made Grimbold sick. Confused as he was, he told himself that he _could_accept that Théodred, driven by the King's threats, had decided to leave rather than wait for the hammer to fall… but _murder_?

The Prince was but a man like any other – prone to weakness and faults – but he would never have killed one of his own men. Not like this. As Marshal he could be harsh and unbendable when his command demanded it… but _never_ at the cost of someone else's life.

Grimbold rubbed his eyes wearily and left the deserted tent. He knew that whatever he chose to do now, it would have to be deftly done. Théodred had always valued honesty above prudence, but in this Grimbold had to favor the latter, even though it pained him.

Béorath had to be informed of his son's death and the riders of Westfold had to know that their commander was gone… but no one need know about the sword that had the young soldier's blood on it. The men would be disheartened enough to find out that their commander was gone.

-0-0-0-

_**Edoras, April 6th 3018 T.A.**_

When Èowyn woke up that morning she had a strange feeling. She couldn't tell if it was because of a dream she'd had or because of something else, but it made her go by her morning routines without much thought on what she was doing. In the end she even had to give up lacing the front of her gown (surrendering the task to one of the maids) as her mind was too unfocused to get it properly done.

When it was time for her to go and greet the King, she put on a brave face and tried to focus her thoughts on the present. It would not due to let the King see her sullen mood. Not when hers was the only face that could bring Théoden to truly smile these days.

However, when she was about to enter the throne room, the word '_son'_ uttered in a poisonous voice made her freeze in her tracks. From her spot by one of the pillars, she could see the King sitting on his throne, reaching for a note Grima was handing him.

"It's unfortunate, my liege… but can there be any doubt? This letter came from the Westfold."

Èowyn saw Théoden unfold the letter, his old wrinkled face paling as his eyes swept the content. When he looked up at Grima again, Èowyn thought the King was going to cry, but then his eyes flared with anger.

"He's a coward…" Théoden said coldly. "And not worthy of his King's mercy. If I ever get my hands on him, he will know that he went too far. Death by his own sword would be sufficient."

Èowyn let out a gasp and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Slowly, she backed further into the shadows, suddenly afraid of the uncle she adored and loved.

"Certainly, my lord." Grima's voice cut through the air. "This is unheard of. If your son had had even the slightest bit of honor in him, he would have come here to accept his King's judgment."

Grima lowered his voice and Èowyn had to concentrate to hear his words.

"I have also received word that one of the riders were found dead the same morning your son was gone. I have no doubt that the poor lad tried to stop him from leaving… and paid the price. That's not only treason, my lord… but murder."

Èowyn closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. She heard the King say something in response, but she couldn't make out the words. As she opened her eyes again, she saw that Grima had taken the King by the arm and was leading him towards his quarters.

Long after both men were gone, Èowyn still remained in the shadows, unable to move. Unable to believe the King's words. Théoden _loved_ his son... he always had. Èowyn and Èomer were his kin and he had raised them as his own, loving them no less than he loved Théodred... but Théodred was _his_. His only child. No father, King or not, could possibly wish for his son to die. Not in _any_ way, but least of all by... _by_ _his own blade._

When her legs finally decided to obey her, she walked up to the hearth in the middle of the hall and stoked the smoldering coals, her thoughts a maelstrom of doubt and grief. She didn't notice that her brother had entered the hall until he stood beside her, the smell of horse, leather and sweat making her turn her head to look up at his familiar face.

She managed to smile as he embraced her, doing her best to forget the conversation she had just overheard. "Èomer, you're back. What took you so long? The King expected you six days ago."

Èomer chuckled. "It's nice to see you, too, sis."

Putting his arm around her shoulders, Èomer led her to the nearest table. A few moments later a servant came up with mead, bread and salted meat, but whereas Èomer dug in heartily, Èowyn had no appetite.

"I had to remain in Aldburg to make sure that all our _eoreds_ returned." He said between mouthfuls. "When Grimbold took the Westfold companies back to Helm's Deep, I couldn't possibly have left Eastfold unguarded. My men still patrol Fenmarch…"

He took a deep swallow from his tankard and was silent for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was darker. "What about you, sister? When I came in I saw you stare at that coal with eyes as sad as the day Mother died."

Èowyn looked at Èomer, her expression a mixture of hopelessness and bitter acceptance. "Our cousin is gone, Èomer… or so Grima says. The King demanded that he return to Edoras... and threatened him with banishment and worse if he refused. But, of course he wouldn't come... and now no one knows where he is."

Eòmer just stared at her, too shocked to speak. First of all, the Théodred he knew wouldn't simply leave his men in the dead of night... and neither would he be too proud or craven to face his King. And the Uncle he knew would never have brought his son to such disgrace.

"That's not all, though." Èowyn continued quietly and told her brother about the man Théodred supposedly had killed. She couldn't, however, bring herself to repeat the words the King had spoken to Grima. _It's too cruel..._

When Èomer looked questioningly at her she realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. "He's not a coward, Èomer... or Heavens forbid, a..."

"I know." Èomer said, saving her from uttering the word. "I don't believe it either. It's not our cousin. Never has been and never will be."

He stood up and walked around the table to sit down beside her, taking her cold hand in his own. "But I do remember the look in Théo's eyes when he came down to the stables to warn me. He hadn't lost his mind, but something had... _changed _him_._ You know it."

Èowyn nodded silently. "That's why I made the grave mistake of informing the King that Théodred was leaving with his men. I was afraid he'd do something stupid. All of this could have been avoided if I hadn't…"

"Don't blame yourself, Èowyn. It's not your fault. I don't think anyone truly expected..." Èomer fell silent as voices could be heard coming from the hallway leading to the King's quarters.

Silently he stood up and took Èowyn by the hand, leading her to his quarters. Once there, he closed the door behind them.

"As I was saying... " Èomer continued, keeping his voice low. "I doubt anyone, save for Grima, expected the King to be true to his words. Théodred has been rash and single-minded in the past, but Théoden has never even _hinted_ at shortening his leash. On the contrary, he made him _Second Marshal_..."

Èowyn smiled ruefully. "For being rash and single-minded?"

"No." Èomer said, glaring at the door as if daring it to doubt his words. "By being true to his beliefs and unafraid of the consequences... _damn him... _for putting me in this situation."

He sighed and when he looked at her again, the fire had gone out of his eyes, replaced by doubt. "Tell me that rumor has it wrong, sister. Tell me that the King does not wish for me to be his successor."

Surprised that he would know this, Èowyn met his gaze reluctantly. There was no avoiding the inevitable. "No, brother. It's true. Less than a fortnight ago I heard the King say to Grima that when you returned he would make the announcement official."

Èomer let out the breath he had been holding. "As long as Théodred lives, he is the _true_ Heir. I can't take his place... I _won't_ take his place."

"What choice do you have, Èomer? If you displease him…"

"The King will be short on kin if he gets rid of me as well... and I doubt he will let that happen." Èomer reassured her, then added under his breath, "Unless he plans to name Wormtongue his successor..."

Èowyn frowned at the jest. Somehow it made her blood go cold... thinking about Grima in that position. Even now it wasn't that far from the truth. But, of course Èomer wouldn't know. He didn't see how the King slowly withered away, his advisor whispering counsel in his ear for every small matter of the Kingdom.

"I hope you're right, brother... for all our sakes."

Èomer sighed. "Don't worry. If I can help it I won't give the King reason to discard me. However, my loyalty is to all of Rohan... not just its King."

_And where is _his_ loyalty? _Èowyn thought, wondering where her cousin was.

* * *

**A/N: **_**You alone can make my tale take flight, so please review the story that I write…**_


	11. The Journey Begins

_Disclaimer__:_ No!

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**Broken - Chapter X**

**The Journey Begins**

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_**Helm's Deep, April 8**__**th**__**, 3018 T.A.**_

_Treason and desertion… Lord Théodred is gone. _Those were the whispers that spread among the Rohirrim like wild fire.

A messenger, bearing the grave news, had reached Helm's Deep two days after the Prince's disappearance, but even before then the word had somehow spread… and before a rider could be sent to Edoras, another had appeared at Helm's Deep, carrying the King's orders.

And thus any attempt at softening the blow was gone with one swift stroke.

When Dríana first had heard about the events at the Fords, she hadn't been able to believe them – no one in Helm's Deep had. But, when Lord Grimbold himself had arrived at Helm's Deep, Dríana had overheard his conversation with Lord Béorath… and the truth had been hard to accept.

Quietly she had listened, her hope slowly dying with each word... but then a strange revelation had opened another window in her mind. Théodred's horse had been found grazing by his master's tent in the morning, and that had made Dríana wonder. _Would a horse lord leave his precious steed behind?_

That had made her hope that he might yet return, but as the days had passed without any hopeful news, she had had to accept the inevitable: Théodred wasn't coming back.

Now Grimbold and Erkenbrand were doing their best to fill the gap of command, but there was only so much they could do to encourage the sullen and disheartened riders.

With all this in her mind, Dríana tried to go on as before, but it was hard and she found no joy in her work. She remembered when Théodred had let her into his tent and she had frozen to look at his bare chest. It was strange how comfortable she had felt in his presence, even though he was a Lord of the Mark and she (the grandchild of a Lord or not) was just a farmer's daughter and a servant.

_What was to become of Rohan now that the Prince was gone? What kind of hope was there for people like her? People who had no past to speak of… and now only vainly could hope for a future..._

-0-0-0-

Late that evening, Dríana made up her mind. It was a reckless and stupid idea, but at least her father would have been proud to know that maybe she had a little bit of her mother's fire in her after all.

She finished the day's work, put Fréda to bed and then sneaked out to the kitchens where Hilde was finishing the cleaning. The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open, startling the older woman.

"Good graces, Dríana." She said, holding her chest as she turned around. Upon seeing that Dríana was wearing travel clothing and not her usual gown, she frowned. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

Hilde sighed, half expecting Dríana to ask her to be silent about yet another nightly visit to the stables. Though considering her clothing perhaps she meant to go riding this time…

"I need you to look after my sister for a while." Dríana said, taking Hilde by surprise. "I have to… I got a letter from uncle and I need to pay him a visit. But it's best if Fréda stayed here."

Hilde, unaware of Dríana's silent prayer that the lie wasn't too obvious, shrugged indifferently. "Sure. She's a sweet little girl…"

Dríana hid a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Hilde. I knew I could count on you"

"How long will you be gone?"

Dríana grimaced, looking down at her feet. She had been afraid of that question. "I don't know for sure. Maybe… _a while_."

"A while_?"_ The older woman put down the cloth and studied Dríana for a long while before sighing. "Well, I suppose I can keep an eye on her... for _a while. _Or actually _two _eyes. She's your sister after all."

Dríana smiled. "Thank you."

She then left the kitchens before Hilde could ask any more questions – or worse, change her mind. She would have to wait until dawn, however, before she could leave. The gates were closed at night and she would never get past the guards.

Having already packed some food and a warm blanket for the journey, Dríana forced herself to get some sleep. However, her thoughts gave her no pause and she tossed and turned until she gave up and simply sat on the cot, waiting for the night to end.

When it finally started to lighten outside and the moon no longer stood high on the sky, Dríana gathered her things and hurried to the stables to get Léoma. The dappled mare wasn't really hers, but no one would miss her. She was sure footed and swift, but not a warhorse.

Some stable hands were already up and about, preparing feed for the horses, but they paid Dríana no mind. She was just another early riser.

When Léoma was saddled, Dríana mounted and quickly rode out of Helm's Deep. There was no looking back now. After crossing the Deeping Stream, she steered Léoma northwest and continued over the plains of Westfold.

She was no rider of Rohan, but a long time ago when her parents had still been alive, she had been taught how to ride like one of the rohirrim. Every child of Rohan knew how to handle horses – it was in their blood and culture – but with a soldier father and highborn mother, Dríana knew the difference between riding and _riding_.

By afternoon she had already reached the plains close to the Isen and her body was aching from the ride. She was also beginning to regret her decision to leave Fréda and the safe walls of Helm's Deep behind… _and for what? _A wild case?

When she finally gave up to exhaustion and pulled Léoma to a halt, Dríana sank down on the soft grass and fell asleep with Léoma watching over her.

-0-0-0-

_**Across the Isen, two days earlier...**_

_Orcs. _A whole herd of them. Though they were no ordinary Orcs. They were half-breeds. _Uruk-hai_. Half Orc, half human... smarter and viler than the rest of their kind.

Gwyn, however, saw them as nothing but abominations. Mutilated beasts created to serve evil. Creatures who had no respect whatsoever for other living beings…. creatures that killed for mere pleasure. Or, in this case, kept their six conquered victims as prisoners and slaves.

Their village had been burned and those who had survived had been captured. _Enslaved. _They were half-starved and always lived in fear of the next day. Would they live or die?

But, apparently these Orcs followed higher orders and therefore made no attempt to harm the prisoners beyond function. It was obvious, too, that they were heading somewhere. Less than a day ago they had crossed the Isen and now they were heading north across the Gap of Rohan. Why would they turn around and leave the horse lands when they could just as easily have pillaged every other village in the West-march?

At this point, Gwyn was used to waking up at the crack of dawn and being carried, dragged or pulled in a carriage across the plains for hours upon hours until the _Uruk-hai_ finally decided to rest. They could run tirelessly for miles, but Gwyn and the others were too ragged and starved to make it even a mile without aid. The creatures had restrained themselves from slaughtering the two sturdy horses that pulled the carriages, but they wouldn't last long. Sooner or later their strength would fail.

So far every day had been the same in the Uruk camp, but that particular day something new and unexpected happened. It was almost noon and she and the other prisoners were eating what little food they had been given, when seven riders on swift horses rode into the camp.

Curiosity overtook Gwyn's hunger and she stopped to look at the strangers. The Orcs kept their distance from the men as their leader, _Gurlúk,_ spoke to one of the riders. The man in question pointed at one of his companions, who then dismounted and dragged down another man.

The man was thrown harshly to the ground in front of the snarling Orcs and Gwyn could hear the leader of the riders say, "Keep an extra eye on this one. He's valuable."

_Gurlúk_ snarled menacingly, but when the rider leaned closer to say something in a hushed voice, the _Uruk-hai's_ ugly face turned into a pleased grin.

* * *

For the rest of the day the new prisoner was a mystery to Gwyn and the others. However, once they had gotten a closer look at him it had been easy to tell that he was Rohirrim. His hair was long and fair and his eyes a shade between blue and green. And despite all the dirt and blood, the man's features were fair and proud... almost noble.

Both Gwyn and Ósle had tried to speak with him once the Orcs had left him alone, but he had simply ignored their efforts. Even Dáfur had tried to approach him, but with the same result as the others. When the Orcs didn't beat him, he kept to himself.

Still it looked like he was always keeping an eye on the others. If the Orcs threatened one of them, his hands would clench into a fists and his eyes would burn into the Orcs like ice and fire both.

Dáfur said that there was a strange kind of sadness in his eyes, as if the man had lost everything and no longer cared to stand up and fight. And yet his hatred and disgust towards the Orcs seemed more soulful and deep than any hatred Gwyn had ever seen. And she had seen some in her thirty-five years. _What could possibly have happened for a man to be so utterly broken?_

On the second day of his arrival, Gwyn finally decided on another try to approach him. She slowly walked up to him, giving him plenty of time to become aware of her presence. Then she softly cleared her throat.

"Do you mind?" She asked politely and pointed at the empty space beside him. When there was no answer, she sat down, resting her back on the trunk of the tree. She noticed that his eyes were staring into empty space, but at least he didn't shy away.

"I was hoping that you might tell me your name today..." She waited for a response, but all she got was silence. Sighing she continued. "Well, perhaps tomorrow then. Anyway, I'm..."

"_Gwyn_."

The barely audible whisper took her by complete surprise and she was unable to suppress the smile that crept onto her lips. "So you aren't deaf or dumb then. We were beginning to wonder..."

She had no idea if it was just her imagination, but for a moment it looked like the man might have been smiling. Gwyn took it as a sign of trust and continued. "Here, let me look at those gashes."

She took up a cloth from the bowl of water she had brought with her, and as he still made no move to shy away, she started to clean the cuts and bruises on his arms and back.

When she was finished he smiled sadly up at her before letting his gaze wander distantly over the hills again. However, just when she was about to leave, his voice finally broke the silence. "It's Dred."

Gwyn stopped. "I'm sorry?"

"My name. It's Dred."

However, she never got the chance to rejoice in the fact that she had finally gotten his name. In the next instance, _Gurlúk_ appeared and dragged Dred to the other side of the camp.

Moments later Gwyn could hear a whip snap and she embraced her self for the blood-curling scream that would follow. But it never did. The whip repeated its sound and movement, but not a single scream emerged from his throat.

Gwyn found herself jumping at every crack of the whip. It was as if Dred's silent acceptance had _her_ feeling the blows in his stead. After several minutes, the silence was nearly killing her.

_Scream, damn it. That's the only way they'll stop. SCREAM!_

But, he didn't. Not once.

-0-0-0-

_**Westfold, April 9th, 3018 T.A.**_

When Dríana woke up, she had the feeling that someone was watching her. She slowly rose up to a sitting position and looked around. Léoma was grazing a few yards away… but not alone. A dark bay horse with two white stockings was looking at Dríana with curious brown eyes.

Dríana slowly stood up and looked at the horse, its coloring and conformation unmistakable. "Brego?"

She slowly walked towards the steed, but Brego threw up his head telling her not to come any closer. "_Nán, Brego. Stille._ You are looking for your master just as I am…"

She never had time to finish her sentence before Brego bolted and galloped away, leaving her alone with Léoma. Luckily the mare was not in heat… or she might have found herself without a mount… _or with a pregnant one_.

"Stupid horse." She muttered in the vanishing stallion's direction, but of course she knew that Brego was anything but stupid. In fact, she could have sworn that he had been looking at her as if he recognized her.

With a yawn, Dríana mounted Léoma again and continued her journey west and then north alongside the river Isen. Because of the stony terrain, Léoma had a hard time finding footing, and it took several hours for them to cover just a couple of miles. Still, Dríana preferred to follow the river, as it was her only means of knowing where she was.

However, little did she know that someone else knew of her whereabouts as well, and therefore she never saw the blow before it struck her to the ground.

* * *

When Dríana opened her eyes she was laying on a blanket, the hard ground making its uncomfortable presence known by digging into her back. Her sight was blurry, but she could tell it was long since nightfall. Turning her head slightly to one side, she could see a man sitting by her side.

"Are you awake, my lady?" He said in a voice Dríana knew, but couldn't place.

"Where am I?"

"In a tent... safely guarded by riders. We took you for a spy..."

Dríana groaned. "Is this how you treat all travelers who ride along the river?"

The man chuckled. "Not at all. We usually treat them worse. However, we didn't quite expect to find a woman of Rohan so far to the west… all by herself."

"Great..." Dríana muttered and made an attempt to sit up. Her head ached, but otherwise she felt fine. As she was sitting, her vision became clearer and she could see that the man sitting by her side was none other than Lord Erkenbrand.

Surprised, she tried to stand up. "My lord… I... I'm sorry. I mean... I should be on my way."

"My lady, you can't. It's still dark outside."

"I have to. Please, my lord."

"What's your name?" Erkenbrand looked at her, waiting for her to answer.

She sighed. As one of the men who had known her father, she knew that he would most likely remember her. "Dríana, my lord."

As she had guessed, he frowned. "Are you Argod's daughter?"

Quietly she nodded. All of Westfold probably knew of the soldier who had stolen Lady Hwitloc's heart and then married her against her father's will. Dríana's mother had been of high birth. Dríana, however, wasn't. Hwitloc's father had disinherited her the day she had married Argod instead of Lord Béorath.

"Well, I can't exactly keep you here, can I? I myself have to leave as well. The King is pulling the riders back from the West-march…"

"What? Again?" Dríana said before she could stop herself.

"Yes." He answered a bit surprised at her reaction.

"But... Lord Théodred would never…"

"You'd better not utter that name here, my lady." Erkenbrand said without emotion and Dríana wondered whose side he took – the prince's or the King's? Or perhaps neither.

Upon seeing her thoughtful expression, Erkenbrand added, "No questions. Just know that Théodred was a good friend of mine. A far too good friend…"

His voice died out and Dríana simply nodded. She knew what he meant. How much it ever pained him, the King's son was guilty until proven innocent. And the fact that he was still gone was almost proof enough.

Dríana stood up and together they left the tent. Outside, Léoma was waiting, fully groomed and content, and Dríana mounted the mare. However, before she could set off, Erkenbrand took hold of the mare's bridle and looked at Dríana.

"No matter what people say, your father was a good man. Your mother wouldn't have run away with someone less than that… and neither will you."

It took a while for Dríana to understand the meaning of his words, but when she did, she froze. _He knew?_

As she was unable to respond, Erkenbrand simply nodded, telling her that he knew indeed. Like her mother, she was ready to sacrifice her life for a man she hardly knew. But, like her father, she was reaching for stars that were well beyond her reach… and still she refused to look anywhere else.

And Erkenbrand had seen that fire and determination – a young woman, whose mother had disgraced her family by marrying a mere farmer's son, but still had that noble blood in her, even if she had nothing else. And, with the Prince banished and disinherited, perhaps those stars weren't that far beyond her reach after all…


	12. Fate

**Broken - Chapter XI**

**Fate**

* * *

_**The Plains beyond the Isen, April 12th, 3018 T.A.**_

When they finally stopped for the night Théodred sank down on the cold ground, exhausted and hungry. However, when Ósle offered him a piece of bread, he simply shook his head. He was too beaten up and tired to care. Rest was rarely granted him and sleep was more welcome than food. Too weak to mind the shivers that shook his body, his thoughts drifted off to another place and time. A time that felt like a lifetime ago...

Absent-mindedly he reached for the pendant hanging around his neck and grasped its cool surface. Surprisingly, the Orcs had never tried to rip it from him, and for that he was grateful. Being constantly reminded of his father left a bitter taste in his mouth, but still he was glad to have this one little piece of home left.

Gently he fingered the irregular round shape with its carved horse-head, his hands turning into fists as he thought of its significance. It was proof of his birthright as heir to the throne of Rohan... now nothing more than a simple piece of jewelry.

"Dred?" Théodred jumped as Gwyn's sudden voice brought him back to the present. "I've brought some stew..."

Théodred looked down at the steaming bowl in her hands. It was a rare treat, but still he couldn't bring himself to reach out for the bowl.

Seeing his hesitation, Gwyn sighed. "Please, Dred. You should eat at least something."

Théodred tore his gaze from the stew and looked her in the eyes. It was because of her that he was still strong enough to walk. And how did he repay her? With silence?

"I'm sorry." He finally managed to say. "It's not your fault that…"

However, before he could finish the sentence, _Gurlúk's _deep snarl cut through the air. Gwyn jumped at the sound, and as she turned around she bumped right into the tall Orc, spilling the hot contents of the bowl. With a hiss _Gurlúk_ roughly shoved her aside and dragged Théodred to his feet.

His anger flaring, Théodred instinctively made a defensive move and managed to wring himself free. Surprised, the Uruk-hai barely had time to realize what was happening before Théodred had aimed a well-measured kick at the Orc, forcing him to the ground while reaching for the short blade hanging by _Gurlúk's_ belt. In less than a heartbeat Théodred had the blade at the beast's throat...

"Not another move or the female dies."

Théodred froze, his heart skipping a beat. Slowly, he looked away from _Gurlúk _and found Gwyn on her knees, her head pulled back with a knife to her throat. The Orc that held the blade looked at Théodred with malicious eyes. "_You_ may be valuable to us... but she ain't."

For a long moment Théodred just stared at the Orc holding Gwyn in his grip... and then, slowly, he lowered the blade and let it drop to the ground.

_Gurlúk _picked it up and got back to his feet. His eyes, usually cold and unreadable, were now afire. And as he spoke, his voice was pure venom. "You will regret this, manling..."

A lesser man would have sunk away from the Uruk-hai's stare, but Théodred didn't flinch. And when he saw the whip, he simply closed his eyes. A few seconds later the whip struck his back and he suppressed a scream as he fell to the ground. From the corner of his eye he could see Gwyn's horrified expression and futile attempt to interfere. Théodred, however, didn't struggle. He simply counted. As he always did... he counted. Counted the times the whip hit him. Counted the minutes until he slipped into unconsciousness - that all too sweet and familiar darkness.

The last thing he knew before passing out, was his fingers reaching for the pendant around his neck...

But it was gone.

-0-0-0-

_People die out here every day... _

Dríana had tried not to think about it, but the fact still remained: she was lost and alone, and riding across lands she did not know. She had long since run out of food and after having crossed the Isen, she had had a hard time to find fresh water as well. But still she rode on, further and further... though so far, her journey from the Fords of Isen had been a fruitless one.

Refusing to believe that Lord Théodred had left the realm, Dríana had ridden back the way she had come, heading for the West-march. It had been risky since both Wildmen and Orcs raided the western borders frequently, but it was her best option. Going north towards Isengard would have been stupid, and Dríana somehow doubted that Théodred would have made it east across the wide open plains of Rohan.

However, as the days had passed, Dríana had begun to lose hope. She had asked almost every traveller and villager she had come by if they had seen Théodred, but truth was that none of them would have recognized the Prince even if he had walked right past them. The only news they had been able to give her, was that a large band of Orcs had been raiding nearby a fortnight past and had then headed north. Apparently they had then crossed the river somehow because no traces of them had been found by the patrolling riders of Rohan...

As such, a reasonable person would have headed in the opposite direction, but Dríana had turned back towards the river and crossed it. A mad idea, but one she couldn't regret. Having ventured past the borders of Rohan (into lands that had once been Dunland), Dríana had come upon the very thing that kept her going now. It was a small thing, but a significant one.

A bronze pendant with the head of a horse engraved in its middle.

It had been lying in the dirt, its leather cord broken. The glimmer of metal had caught Dríana's attention as she had looked down at the mess of footprints surrounding an abandoned campsite. Curiously she had picked it up, and as she had rubbed off the mud she had gasped. She had seen that kind of ornament only once before. It had been in Lord Théodred's tent when she had brought him food. _He had worn it around his neck when she had looked at his bare chest..._

Now she was clutching that little piece of jewelry tightly, as if that alone could bring her to the person it belonged to.

Knowing that Lord Théodred was a seasoned warrior and rider, Dríana continued as long past nightfall as she dared, and then rested a few hours before heading off again at dawn. Her mind told her that it was a wild case, but her heart kept on hoping. Théodred couldn't be more than half a day's ride ahead of her now, and as he didn't know that Dríana was following his trail, she had the edge on him.

* * *

Two nights later, Dríana was trotting Léoma through a cluster of trees when the mare suddenly stopped and flared her nostrils. Dríana put a calming hand on the horse's neck, but the mare remained tense.

"What is it, Léoma?" Dríana narrowed her eyes and swept her surroundings anxiously. The mare gave a low snort, her stamps becoming more and more frequent.

A rustle in the bushes turned Dríana's attention back to her surroundings and she instinctively reached for the dagger. It would be useless against anything bigger than a fox, but it felt safer to hold the carved handle rather than holding nothing at all.

As she looked up again, two pairs of golden eyes were staring back at her from the darkness, and she screamed before she could stop herself. Startled by the sudden noise Léoma reared, throwing Dríana off her back. She hit the ground hard, but managed to stand up on shaky legs just as Léoma gave one last neigh before vanishing into the night. Paralyzed, Dríana watched the golden eyes move closer with a snarl.

"Look what we have here."

Dríana swung around at the sound of the voice in her left ear and found herself looking into another pair of golden eyes and a drooling mouth. By now her heart was beating so fast that she half expected it to tear out of her chest. She took a step back, but stumbled on the hem of her gown and fell down onto the ground again. The Orcs came closer.

"You know it's not very safe to wander the plains at night." The Orc in front of her said, licking its teeth.

Dríana had completely lost her ability to speak by now. She had never been so afraid before. Not even during the attack on her village. Images of ravaged and abused dead bodies filled her head and she was at the brick of fainting. Everything her father had taught her was forgotten.

The bigger Orc grabbed her arm and pulled her up roughly, disarming her from the dagger. "Now let's not make a mess of things."

With that the Orcs pushed her into the awaiting claws of the other Orc. "Take her to the others. I believe they are longing for some amusement."

Dríana's face drained from what little color it had left as the Orc started to drag her through the darkness. However, the hoarse voice of the other Orc cut through the air again.

"On second thought, take her to the other prisoners. We'll be moving again in a few hours. And…" He had come up to Dríana and stroked her roughly over the cheek. "We don't want to leave her behind so soon."

They proceeded through the darkness and all Dríana could do was to keep up and pray they wouldn't do anything _indecent_ with her.

After quite a while of stumbling through the darkness with two Orcs at her side, Dríana found herself facing a small alcove of rocks among the trees. All around her, Orcs were either snoring or digging their teeth into the day's catch. She was relieved when none of the other Orcs seemed to be aware of her presence.

"I'll take her inside." Said the Orc that was constantly licking its teeth as if drooling over some delicate piece of flesh.

The other one left and Dríana was roughly pushed into the alcove. She winced as her knees and palms hit the hard stone, but to her surprise the Orc made no attempt to bind her.

Seeing the mixture of relief and questioning on her face, the Orc chuckled. "If you think you can escape, go ahead. But I can assure you that you won't get far…" With that he left and snarled something to another Orc that was standing guard outside.

As there apparently was no point in trying to escape, Dríana decided to turn her attention back to her surroundings. A quick look around showed her that she was not the only person in the Orc camp.

A young woman with dark blond hair was sitting a few spaces away from her and to Dríana's great surprise she was looking at her. "So they've picked up another one." The woman said with a sigh. "Those cursed creatures. You can't be old. Twenty?"

Dríana swallowed. "Twenty-two."

The woman smiled, although it wasn't a warm smile. "And what got you into this mess?"

Dríana wasn't sure whether to answer or not. Her fingers moved to grab the pendant that was in the leather purse hanging by her hip. And as she looked at it she said, "I was looking for someone..."

The woman raised an eyebrow at her. "Looking for someone? Dear girl, what made you ever think you could find _anyone_ out here? Do you even know where you are?"

"Well… I did find _you, _didn't I_?" _When there was no response Dríana continued, albeit hesitantly. "The man I'm looking for is… well, he's..."

Heavy footfalls suddenly broke the silence and Dríana quickly moved away from the other woman. Seconds later, two large Orcs came dragging on a bleeding, half-unconscious man. They threw him unceremoniously onto the cold stone and left after having snarled at the other prisoners.

Dríana looked at the man, the color of her face draining for the second time that night. He had shoulder long dark golden hair and although she couldn't see his eyes, she knew what color they were. His clothes were ripped and bloody and he was thinner than the last time she had seen him, but there was no doubt.

Gwyn rushed to his side and started tending to his wounds, but Dríana simply stared at the man. Of all the situations she had expected to find him in, this was the last... but it didn't matter now.

_She _had_ found him..._


	13. Acquaintance

**Broken - Chapter XII**

**Acquaintance**

* * *

"_Théodred?"_

Dríana's words were but a whisper and not even Gwyn heard them, but Théodred seemed to stir. Unable to make her muscles move, Dríana just watched as Gwyn put him gently down on a ragged blanket and told the man called Dáfur to boil her some water.

Most of the prisoners remained silent as if this was no news to them, but Dáfur and another woman called Ósle helped Gwyn, who seemed to know exactly what to do. However, they all fell silent as Dríana finally gathered the courage to kneel beside Théodred and take his cold hand… and it was her repeated whisper that finally broke the silence.

"Lord Théodred?"

Gwyn's shocked eyes turned to look at Dríana. "What did you say?"

Dríana looked up, perplexed. "What? I just…"

"What did you call him?" Gwyn insisted more forcefully and Dríana let go of Théodred's hand.

"Théodred. I called him Théodred. Why?" By now Dríana could see nine pairs of curious and somewhat shocked eyes looking at her.

"My god." Gwyn gasped, looking down at the unconscious prince of Rohan. "Do you mean that he… _he_ is the King's son?"

Dríana nodded silently before speaking. "You didn't know?"

"He never told us." Dáfur snorted, although Dríana could see that he wasn't angry in the least. Just shocked.

"He was brought to our camp almost three weeks ago and he's barely been talking to us…" Gwyn said with a sigh.

"Gwyn's the only one who's gotten a word out of him. And she's the one who's been keeping him as sound as all those beatings allow him to." Dáfur added with a meaningful glance at the others.

Dríana wasn't sure if she really wanted an answer to her question, but it soon became too hard to suppress it. "What _are_ they doing to him?"

Gwyn shrugged. "Bema knows what. I never understood either why they were treating _him_ so badly when they barely touched us… but now I see. He told me simply to call him Dred. Now I suppose that's short of Théodred."

_Dred. _Dríana thought sadly. _How ironic._

-0-0-0-

Some hours later, Dríana was sitting by herself in the cave when a sudden moan from Théodred startled her. She quickly stood up and made her way to his side as his eyes fluttered open. His gaze fell upon her and she saw him frown slightly at the sight of her.

Ignoring his gaze, Dríana took up a wet cloth and stroked his brow gently. She was checking on his wounds that were healing all right, when his sudden words startled her.

"Do I know you?"

She smiled a bit uncertainly. "Not exactly." _Although it's the second time you ask me that question. _

Dríana helped him up to a sitting position. "One could say that our paths have crossed…"

His frown deepened at her words and he eyed her expectantly. When she didn't continue, Théodred looked away and leaned his head on the cave wall, his eyes distant and expressionless.

This was _not_ the Théodred who had been the Marshall of Westfold… and yet he looked as fair and strong as ever, despite being at least a stone thinner than she remembered.

After a silence that seemed to last forever, Dríana finally spoke up. "You saved me and my sister from those Orcs not so long ago. And then…"

"You walked upon me when I was getting dressed in my tent at Helm's Deep."

For the first time in a very long time, Théodred smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, but the corners of his mouth slightly turned upwards, taking the woman by surprise. "I remember you. Dríana, was it?"

Dríana nodded a bit surprised that he would remember her name. "Yes, my lord."

At those words Théodred's face seemed to pale and Dríana cursed her carelessness. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to…"

Théodred shook his head. "Never mind. It's just quite some time ago I heard someone call me that… and it awoke unpleasant memories."

He turned to look at her with his beautiful blue green eyes and Dríana felt like wanting to let go of everything else and just let those mesmerizing orbs swallow her in an everlasting embrace.

She was just about to speak when her hand touched cold steel in her pocket and she suddenly remembered the pendant. Allowing a shy smile to grace her features, she brought the item out of its hide and looked at Théodred uncertainly.

"I… I have something that belongs to you." She said after a moment of hesitation and opened her fist.

The look on Théodred's face almost brought tears to her eyes, and encouraged by his reaction, she continued. "I found it on the ground just north of the river and thought I had seen it before… and, well… that moment I knew that you… well, that you…"

"What?" Théodred said without taking his eyes off the ornament.

Dríana closed her eyes. "That you hadn't just left."

She felt the ornament leave her palm and as she opened her eyes, she found Théodred looking coldly at her. "So that's what you thought… all of you? That I had run away…"

He stood up and looked down on her. "Tell me, what was the story? That I was too afraid to face my father? That I was a raving lunatic who left my men in the dead of night? Perhaps he sent you after me in hope that I would blindly follow a woman back and…"

Dríana had stood up as well and was glaring at him with anger and contempt to match his own. "I did not ride through the entire realm to have you blaming _me_ for the King's actions. I left everything behind to come and look for you. Bema knows you could have been halfway to the Elven woods by now… or even dead. But I still came. You know why?"

She paused to take a deep breath and to steady her voice. "I didn't believe them… I couldn't."

Théodred just stared at her and Dríana sat down on the ground with a sigh. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault, my lord. You wouldn't know how disheartening it was…" She let her gaze fall to the ground, unable to look Théodred in the eye.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke. "You wouldn't know either… so I guess we're kind of even."

Dríana knew that he was referring to his perspective of things and swallowed the lump in her throat. Looking up she finally met his eyes, and to her surprise they no longer held the hostility she had seen moments ago, but looked sad and exhausted. The fire that had once dwelled in those eyes was gone.

"It's not too late, you know. I know we're almost strangers... and you are still my Lord, but I'd be grateful if you could tell me…"

She was interrupted by the sound of footfalls coming their way. A few moments later, Gwyn, Dáfur and the other eight prisoners came exhaustedly into the cave and stopped their silent conversation at the sight of Dríana and Théodred standing a few feet away from each other.

Théodred gave Dríana a meaningful glance. "Maybe some other time… when I'm ready."

Sighing heavily, Dríana made her way to the cold fireplace and started working on the fire. However, Théodred's voice interrupted her. "There's no need for that. We are leaving again…"

Dríana looked up with a frown. "What? So late?"

"It's rather early actually." Théodred shrugged. "Maybe four in the morning." He looked down on the ornament in his palm and smiled. "And thank you… for this."

Dríana smiled. "You're welcome, my lord."

Several feet away, Gwyn was having a hard time suppressing her tears and she couldn't take her eyes off the two young Rohirrim. When she was sure that her voice wouldn't break, she spoke.

"It was a damn good thing you ended up here, lady Dríana." She ignored the surprised looks from the others and looked at the blond man she had tended to so many times. "My lord, we had no idea…"

"Please, don't call me that. I'm no longer a Prince of Rohan."

Upon seeing their saddened expressions, Théodred smiled ruefully with an attempt to encourage them. "Believe me, it's better that way."

He then turned towards Dríana. "And you, my lady… are up for an explanation. Why did you go looking for a man, who according to your own words, could have been halfway to Mirkwood by now?"

Dríana couldn't hide her blush despite the chill in the cave. And she knew that everyone was watching, including the man who unknowingly made her feel like a silly young girl in love for the first time.

Try as she might, she could not divert her thoughts from the inevitable. All she could think of was the proud warrior on his great steed, that golden hair of his and his bright blue green eyes, the sound of his voice when he called for his riders, the calm look on his face when she was taken aback by the sight of his bare chest… oh yes, that bare chest...

Ashamed of her own thoughts, Dríana tried to shake them off, knowing that he was watching. And then, with a curious frown, he bent down beside her and waited patiently for her to meet his eyes. When she did, he reached for her hand and in that moment she knew that her racing heart was an answer enough for him. Then, still holding her hand he stood up, forcing her to her feet as well.

And his words caught her completely off guard. "Perhaps we should find a way out of here then."


	14. Truth and Darkness

**Broken – Chapter XIII**

**Truth and Darkness**

* * *

_**Edoras, August 1st, 3018 T.A.**_

Èowyn was grooming Windfola in the stables when Èomer chose to make her company. She knew that he was only worried about her, but she had no desire to speak with him.

The last months had taken a great toll on her and she was but a shadow of what she had once been. Her face was as pale as the snow on the mountains and she had dark shadows under her eyes - eyes that had once sparkled with hope and innocence, but now only held sorrow and despair.

Still, she went by her duties like before, though now her warm smile was replaced by a cold, emotionless façade – _the cold lady of Rohan._

For Èowyn the past two months had been nothing but grief and sorrow. Grief for her lost cousin and sorrow for her failing uncle. Oh yes, they knew that now. The King would no longer rule this country with the grace he once had. Too late had they realized it… and that realization had almost broken them apart.

Èowyn remembered it all too well. It was a month ago, but it could just as well have been yesterday. She had spent the entire day at her uncle's side, sometimes earning greedy looks from the King's advisor. Her brother had been gone for several weeks, patrolling the eastern borders and that day he was due in the Golden Hall.

She had heard him enter the throne room and the conversation he had had with the King was a conversation she wanted to forget. It wasn't like the conversations she knew that the King had had with his son… but it filled her with anxiety and fear nonetheless.

Half an hour later Èomer had stormed into his chambers to find Èowyn waiting there for him. Without any reason they had started and argument and it all had ended in Èomer blaming their cousin. Of course, the moment those words had slipped through his mouth, he had regretted them… but it had been too late. The damage had already been done.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Grima Wormtongue had listened to their entire conversation and had then told them in a dangerously calm voice that neither one needed to concern themselves with the realm's politics. Not unless they wanted to end up like their cousin.

When the advisor had left, all walls of hostility between the siblings had vanished and they had looked at each other uncertainly, the same thought swirling in their heads. Could it be that Théodred had been right after all?

Ever since then Èowyn had recoiled deeper and deeper into her own shell, cursing the King's advisor for breaking this household apart.

Now, standing with her right hand resting on Windfola's neck, Èowyn reluctantly looked up at her brother and waited for his words. She could see that he was struggling with whatever he needed to say and that he was fully aware of the fact that she did not wish to speak.

"Èowyn…" Èomer began hesitantly. "I can't take this any longer. I've heard you. At day you go by your duties unmoved, but at night I hear you crying… and I know why."

He paused to wait for a retort of some sort, but when none came, he went on with a sad sigh. "When will you stop punishing yourself? You know that he is _not_ coming back…"

At that Èowyn's head shot up, her eyes flaring with anger. "That's not the only wrong thing in this country, Èomer. Do you remember how we helped to ensnare him here? Do you remember how uncle disinherited him? His _only_ son. Well, of course you don't. You weren't here. But _I_ remember."

Tears were running down her cheeks now. "I remember when _I_ told uncle he was leaving. _I_ witnessed as he was disinherited. _I_ was there when he was ill in bed and treated like a madman, and now… now all of Rohan knows he was right. Even the peasants know that the King is not well. And what now, Èomer? What about Théodred now? He is _dead_."

That word. That terrible truth.

Almost a month ago the King's Guard had found the body of the banished Prince on the shores of Entwash, burned to almost unrecognizable with only the armor and the abused features to prove whom that body had belonged to.

For almost four months the King's men had searched for Théodred without success, but then the body had been found, and half of Rohan had been sent into a blackness of despair.

The King had refused to give his son a proper burial, but the men had seen it fit that the diseased Prince was put to rest as tradition demanded. Now all that hope, pride, and courage that Théodred had once brought with him, was buried under the Simbelmynë by the Fords of Isen.

As it had been his last location before his desertion and following death, the men had seen it befitting to bury him at the place he had last sworn to guard. Perhaps the riders of the west had forgiven and forgotten their late Prince's actions… or perhaps they knew more than they let know… but it had certainly angered Grima Wormtongue – almost as if the riders' loyalty to their dead Prince had somehow been an act of revolt in the eyes of the advisor.

Èowyn couldn't understand that reasoning.

"Westfold is burning… Eastfold is weakening. And the King's health is failing. How corrupted has this land become? Are we to perish along with it?"

Her voice broke and she buried her face in the mare's mane, leaving Èomer dumbfounded to ponder her words. After a few moments, Èowyn's choked voice reached his ears again.

"People have gone missing, too, but of course the King wouldn't care… not with that snake around him. When I visited Helm's Deep I was told by a young girl – a _child_ – that her sister had left on a few-mile journey to their uncle… and never returned. That's four months ago, Èomer. _Four months_."

She paused and turned to look at her brother. "If our dear cousin truly ran away, then I shan't let grief overtake me for the rest of my days. _But,_ if he didn't. If he was…"

She couldn't finish the thought and Èomer had no idea what to say in response. Of course Èowyn was right. Those were matters he himself had thought a lot about ever since the number of Orcs had increased. These were no raiding outcasts. These were the seeds of an army… and an army always had a master.

-0-0-0-

"Here, my lord... drink this."

The King took the tankard from his advisor without hesitation and Grima watched contently as the King emptied the contents. Théoden was under _His _command now and no more than a mere puppet. His son's departure and death had been the last crack in the King's withering frame. His eyes were grey and dim like a blind man's, and his voice was but a shadow of what it once had been.

It wouldn't be long before Rohan would fall.

Of course there was still Èomer, but Grima saw no threat in him, however stubborn the Third Marshall could be. Not even the fact that the King had made Èomer his heir changed anything in his Master's plan. By the time a new King would be ready to rise in Rohan… there would be no need for it.

When Grima retired for the day, he couldn't help smiling contently. Théodred had been the only big threat and now he was long since out of the way, well secured in the hands of Saruman's Orcs. Not even his most loyal men would go looking for him now.

The body used in the deception had served its purpose… and when the time came, Grima Wormtongue would have the pleasure of killing Théodred son of Théoden with his own hands.

* * *

_**The Misty Mountains, August 3rd, 3018 T.A.**_

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound of water dropping onto the cold rocks below echoed through the empty cave. But other than that it was perfectly silent. Not even the wind played in the creeks and the alcoves. The cave entrance was far too small and the cave itself far too deep.

But, it was the perfect hideout. And, it was there on the wet ground, where the water dripped onto the cold rock, that a man was sitting with his back resting on the stone. The man's eyes were closed, knowing that even when open, they wouldn't see in the darkness of the cave.

_Three months._ Three full months of darkness and damp air.

As he sat there, listening to the dropping water, scenes from the last few months flashed through his mind. There was this young woman who had given him renewed hope, but then there was that day it all had gone wrong. He could barely recall it in detail, but the feeling of hopeless despair was still there…

-0-0-0-

_It was one of those nights that the Orcs didn't pay much attention to their prisoners. Sneaking up to the others, Dred helped them off their restrains and told them to follow him. His muscles were sore and tired, but he ordered his body to obey with every inch of his will. This was their only chance to get away. _

_The well-planned escape then turned into a massacre when one Orc didn't immediately die from the arrow piercing its heart. Its angry snarl alerted the entire Orc camp in a matter of seconds and eleven prisoners fled into the woods. _

_The Orcs being faster and more in number quickly gained on them…_

_Théodred looked over his shoulder and saw a black arrow pierce Faola from behind. Instinctively he turned around and shot down the Orc with the bow. With only four arrows left, he realized that if they didn't run fast enough, there would be nothing to escape from anymore. There was no way he could keep the others from getting killed if the Orcs caught up with them._

_There was only one thing they could do. Run…_

_He knew that at least Gwyn and Dáfur were ahead of him, but he had no idea where the others were. Not even Ósle. Only Dríana was within his sight, and grabbing her hand he pulled her along._

_Her gown was a tattered and ripped mess, her face full of cuts and bruises, but she kept on running, squeezing Théodred's hand tightly._

_His mind told him to turn around and face the Orcs, but his heart refused. The fire that had burned in him when he was still a Prince of Rohan, was long since dead. And that's what drove him into those unknown woods._

_Then suddenly Dríana stumbled on a root and fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The look in her eyes as their gazes met was that of cold determination. "Go. Get out of here."_

_Ahead of them, Gwyn and Dáfur stopped, too, and Théodred knelt down beside Dríana who was holding her ankle. _

_"No." He said. "My heart will never give me peace if I leave you here now."_

"_I'll only slow you down. Please, they'll kill us all."_

"_Then they will. I'm not leaving you..."_

-0-0-0-

Théodred opened his eyes and looked down at Dríana's sleeping body. Her head rested on his shoulder and she had curled up into a tight ball, shielding herself from the cold. Her light auburn hair shone in contrast to her fair skin - much paler and dirtier than before. And for reasons unknown to him, she had never complained. Never seemed to regret her past decisions.

And in that moment, he loved her for it. And he wished that he, too, could forget about regret and find the courage to live. He didn't even have to fight... just live. For despite all the pain and misfortune, the Gods had so far graced him with the one thing that truly matter: _life_. And with life there was hope.

_Gwyn, Dáfur... Ósle...  
_

They had all understood the meaning of that kind of hope. Now they were gone and he lived. And somehow he just had to find the courage and will to accept it. To push aside his regret and...

Théodred let out a deep sigh. He had a promise to keep and he _would_ stand by its consequences. If she wouldn't leave him, then he wouldn't leave her either. No matter what..._  
_


	15. The White Horse & The Wizard

_Disclaimer:_ Did I mention that Middle-Earth is not mine? Well, in case I didn't, now I have...

* * *

**Broken – Chapter XIV**

**The White Horse & The Wizard**

* * *

_**Edoras, September 3010 T.A.**_

_"Come on, cousin. We haven't got all day."_

_Théodred chuckled at his younger cousin's eagerness. It was barely dawn and they had a whole new day ahead of them, and yet Èomer was barely able to restrain himself._

_But oh, how familiar it was. Only a little more than four years ago, he had been in the same position – sixteen, reckless and shaking with anticipation for the day ahead. Théodred had been calmer, more composed, but he sensed the same genuine thrill and seriousness in Èomer. _

_Théodred had often wondered why the younger boy looked up to his older cousin, who was only four years older._ _He had even asked his father if it was so wise that he at twenty would take Èomer to the herd when it was time._

_Théoden hadn't even flinched when confronted with the matter. He had simply said, "Nah, my son. It is true that there are more experienced tutors around, but that's not what I want for Èomer."_

_The King had barely been able to suppress a smile. "He needs someone sincere and impulsive, passionate and gentle, yet stubborn and strict enough to keep him under control. Someone he admires… and only you, Théodred, fill those requirements."_

_And that is why he was taking Èomer to the herd in the mountain valley. It was with great effort that he managed to keep Èomer from running towards the horses the moment he saw them. The younger boy did know, though, that this required patience. Perhaps more patience than ever had been expected of him._

_And, so they waited. Théodred by their mounts and Èomer closer to the herd…_

_The sun rose above the treetops and warmed the plains, and Èomer sat unmoving in the grass. Théodred had felt a surge of pride that day. One day, Èomer would be a great man and rider of Rohan. There was no doubt about that. His heart was certainly big enough._

_When the sun stood at its highest point, Èomer's patience finally paid off. A young, grey colt came slowly towards him. Théodred could see it was a fine horse, with long legs and a strong neck. He guessed it was an offspring from the crop three summers ago._

_The horse stopped beside Èomer and the boy slowly stood up. At the movement, the horse stamped a bit nervously and backed away, but Èomer didn't flinch. He simply extended his hand and called for the colt to come closer._

_Théodred turned his gaze towards the heavens with a smile, and as he looked back towards his cousin, he saw him stroking the horse's neck. With a soft voice, careful not to startle the colt, Théodred spoke. "Bring him here, Èomer."_

_The boy turned with the grey following him, and Théodred couldn't suppress a smile. "What will you call him, dearest cousin, for it is obvious that this horse is to carry you?"_

_Èomer smiled. "I don't know. His eyes are gentle, but fiery in a way… and his coat a cloudy grey. I saw him run with the other young horses and a swift lead he has. Tell me, cousin, is he really mine?"_

_"If he so has chosen… then yes! He's a fine horse… and a fiery one. His coat is an odd color, too."_

_Èomer's eyes suddenly widened and a smile crossed his face. "Firefoot. I will call him Firefoot."_

_Théodred laughed softly. "Not a bad name at all. I'm sure the King will be pleased to hear about your chosen mount."_

_Èomer's smile suddenly faded, his expression becoming thoughtful. "Théo, you once said that the King brought you here as well… but, isn't Brego from one of the Westfold herds?"_

_Théodred gave Èomer the smile he knew too well. Even at twenty, he seemed older and wiser than most newly grown men, but he could still be mischievous._

_"Yes, he is. And I waited for him a whole damn day until he decided to trust me. You see, I had had my eyes on him for a while already... and he was my choice as much as I was his."_

_Èomer looked baffled. "Then what happened when the King brought you here?"_

_Théodred turned to look at the remaining horses and whistled brightly._

_An almost snow white horse with silvery white mane, pricked its ears and neighed as its gaze fell upon the prince. With high borne strides it galloped up to the two Rohirrim._

_"Èomer, this is __Fréaláf__."_

_Théodred looked at Éomer, only to find him gaping at the sight before him._ _"He's one of the mearas, isn't he?"_

_Théodred nodded._

"_Why ever did you break Brego instead of him?"_

_"You must understand, dear cousin, that as one of the mearas, __Fréaláf__ is wild and proud. I did not have the heart to take that freedom from him. He belongs to the plains, much like Shadowfax himself… but our friendship is precious. Perhaps one day that friendship will pay off… and I will ride him."_

_"Yes, one day… when you're King." Èomer said with a grin and a roll of his eyes. _

_His cousin was only four years older than him, and yet he was so… well, different. He was slowly starting to understand what the King and the men saw in Théodred. There was more than a regal face and a skillful warrior to him._

_Èomer's thoughts were interrupted by Théodreds' even voice. "I could perhaps ride him… but I could never break him. His soul and spirit is too strong to be broken."_

-0-0-0-

With the sound of dripping water in his ear, Théodred smiled at the memory. At least one of them was still unbroken and free. His fair _Fréaláf_ was still out there somewhere, waiting for his rider...

* * *

_**Edoras, September 20th 3018 T.A.**_

Before the guard blew the horn, Èowyn could spot a lonely traveler approaching the hill of Edoras on foot. He wore a worn grey cloak and a pointed hat, and Èowyn had the feeling she knew the stranger.

She left her post on the stairs and went inside the hall as the stranger walked up the hill, leaning on an old walking stick. It wasn't very unusual for travelers to pass by the horse lands, but not many came all the way to Edoras. Especially _not_ from the west... or on foot.

As Èowyn had expected, the stranger walked tiredly into the hall some time later. His pointed hat was pulled down to cover his face, but his long beard was clearly visible. The guards, Èowyn noted, moved their hands to rest on their swords. Apparently the King's advisor had made sure that no visitors were to be given a warm welcome. The stranger, however, ignored this.

"Greetings, Théoden King, son of Thengel. A long time it is since I last visited your fair hall… and I must say that the warmth has somewhat lessened."

Théoden sat up straighter on the throne. "Gandalf the Grey. I can not say I'm very glad to see you at these times… but I can assume that a Wizard comes and goes as he pleases."

"You are correct, Théoden King. I wish not to intrude, but I had hoped for your hospitality."

"What brings you to Rohan, old friend? I thought I had banned you a few months ago." As the Wizard walked closer, the King's advisor appeared beside the King and whispered something in his ear.

"_These times _as you put it, I'm afraid. Listen, Théoden. Long have we been friends, and long have we listened to each other's advice… and I do pray you will listen to mine now."

"I am well aware of the alliance between Isengard and Rohan. It's been many years since that alliance was formed… and I myself lived in respect for my superior, Saruman the White… but no more."

"Saruman is no longer with us, Théoden. He has betrayed your borders to Wildmen and Orcs, and has fallen in his greed for power."

Èowyn listened to him in shock where she stood.

"I have witnessed the extent of Saruman's betrayal myself. It won't take long before Orcs will raid your lands in larger numbers than ever before. I would heed the wise, Théoden King, and muster what riders there are to keep the borders not just in the east, but also in the west. You need to prepare your people…"

"Lies." Wormtongue spit out and turned towards the King. "Why would Saruman betray us, my liege?"

"Théoden, you _must_ stand up and fight. The days of peace are over and the time of battle is about to begin. Don't be the first to fall."

Théoden raised his hand to silence the Wizard. "I don't wish to speak with you, Gandalf the Grey. Now go… and don't come back. You are no longer welcome in my halls. Take whatever horse you want, except for my own Snowmane, and be gone before dawn."

If Gandalf was shocked by the King's words, he didn't show it. It was as if he had expected it. "Then, with your permission, I wish to take the fastest of them all. _Shadowfax_."

For a moment, the King looked furiously at the Wizard, but then a dry chuckle escaped his throat.

"Do you hear him? Do you hear the old Wizard? He wishes to have Shadowfax, the Lord of all horses. I haven't seen such arrogance in a very long time."

Théoden stepped down the stairs. "A horse that has refused to carry the King himself and yet is the pride of our land. You can always try, Gandalf… but that horse will never carry you."

Gandalf bowed his head ever so slightly. "I thank you, Théoden King. I shall only return to your hall to release my chosen mount from your power." With that he turned around and left the hall.

Èowyn, who had been standing by the side, hurried after him. "Master Gandalf?"

When coming into the sunlight, the Wizard slowed down, his grim face turning into a warm smile. "Ah, Èowyn daughter of Eomund. What is on your heart?"

"Please, I heard everything. I want to understand, to finally know the truth."

The Wizard sighed and stopped at the top of the stairs. "These are not good times. Be careful, Èowyn. I wouldn't put too much trust on the King's advisor either."

Èowyn frowned. "Strange that you should mention it."

"Why so?"

"_He_ used to say it... but none of us believed him. I tried to believe him, but I'm not so sure I ever truly did. Not before it was too late."

"Who?"

"My cousin." Èowyn said under her breath, obviously reluctant to mention his name.

"Ah, the Prince. I was just going to ask how your brother and cousin fare. Out on the plains, I assume. I do hope they have more sense than your unfortunate uncle."

"That's what I was getting to, Gandalf. _'Sense'_ is a harsh word in these lands nowadays. Apparently Théodred did have sense… but that was wasted. Èomer is in the Eastfold… but my cousin..."

Gandalf frowned, but waited for her to continue.

"The King banished him several months ago. And his last weeks here… they said he had lost his mind… and that all he said about Orcs and Saruman were lies. And I ended up betraying him."

"Listen, Èowyn." The Wizard turned to look at her straight in the eye. "Your cousin was probably the sanest of all of you. If there's any way for you to reach him, do so. Rohan may need him…"

"It's too late for that. My cousin is dead."

Gandalf's frown deepened, but he didn't seem taken aback by the news. Èowyn's heart lightened, though, at his next words. "No. No, your cousin's not dead."

She pushed away the tears and looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I remember now." Gandalf assured her. "How odd..."

"What's odd? What do you remember?"

Gandalf blinked and looked a bit confusedly around. "Oh, just an old man rambling."

His old face became serious again as he looked at Èowyn. "Do your land and Prince a favor by keeping this a secret, Èowyn. And..." He paused, throwing a quick glance in the direction of the Golden Hall. "Don't leave the King's side either."

Before Èowyn could ask him more about why he believed Théodred was alive, the Wizard had descended the stairs and vanished.


	16. New Winds

**A/N: Just a little notification for chapter fifteen. ****I really felt the need to write one ****chapter where all the events are brought together. **_**One**_** chapter to describe the rising war and how it affects the different characters in my ****story. And, in a way you could say that it ends the first part of the story...**

_Disclaimer:__ See previous statements._

* * *

**Broken – Chapter XV**

**New Winds**

* * *

On September 21, 3018, Gandalf the Grey rode out of Edoras on the King's most precious steed Shadowfax. By some wizardry miracle he had managed to tame the horse not even the King had managed to break, and Théoden had been furious. But, the Wizard had help him to his promise.

When he had left, Èowyn had been there to see him leave and he had given her one of those meaningful and wise glances that said, "This is not over yet. It hasn't even begun."

The following week of the Wizard's departure also marked the day when open attacks from Isengard finally started. How the King failed to see this, Èowyn couldn't understand, but influenced by Gandalf's words she had the feeling that the answer could be found by the King's right side. However, she kept to her promise and didn't say a word. If silence were the only way to help her King and people, then she would do whatever it took to keep it.

Shortly after Gandalf's departure, another unexpected visitor stopped by. The rider asked for food and water for his journey, but was then sent on his way before the King could be notified. Those who saw him in his elaborate Gondorian armor knew that he was Boromir son of Denethor, and Èowyn was grateful that Captain Èlfhelm had had the sense to hurry him along. He had then ridden west, and Èowyn had gotten the strange feeling that he was heading towards the same destination as the Wizard...

And part of her wished that she could have joined him. She wanted to see the outside world – to at least confirm that it existed. The past few years had isolated Rohan from the rest of Middle-Earth even more, and she had seen less and less of travelers and traders. Lord Boromir could have given her at least some answers. Answers that she desperately needed to hear...

Then, a month later it became evident that Isengard was no longer an ally of Rohan. Orcs and Wildmen attacked the horselands openly in the west and they all knew that it would come to war. And that realization brought a single question to the lips of every man, woman, child and soldier...

_Who would lead the Rohirrim?_


	17. The Crow and the Eagle

**_A/N: It's been a gruesome five years since my last new chapter, and I seriously never thought I'd get back to working on this story again. Not because it hasn't been on my mind, but because I had kind of lost the plot line and inspiration._  
**

**_I have also edited all the previous chapters and changed both minor and major details in the plot, so if you are an old reader, then I suggest that you at least skim through the previous chapters._**

* * *

**Broken – Chapter XVI**

**The Crow and the Eagle**

* * *

_He was moving through the forest with light strides, the soft grass and the dry leaves tickling his bare feet. Winter was approaching, but the cold didn't bother him. He embraced it. Soon the days would grow shorter. Perhaps there would be no daylight at all…_

_A small rustle among the trees made him freeze in his tracks. Quietly he placed an arrow on the bowstring and waited. Nothing moved. Just as he was about to lower his bow, a crow flew over his head and landed on a low tree branch. He drew back the string and the crow tilted its head curiously._

_Then it shrieked loudly and the arrow burst from the bow._

_But, the crow was gone long before the arrow reached its target… and in its place stood the White Wizard, surrounded by a blinding sphere of light. The arrow fell down by the Wizard's feet, harmless and unmoving._

_The forest was deadly quiet._

"_Son?"_

_He turned around to look for the source of the voice, but there was nothing in the forest – just the Wizard and him. Still, the voice kept repeating its mournful question. He told it to stop, but the voice was ever present._

_When he looked in the direction of the Wizard again, he could see more clearly the shape standing in the beam of light. The light faded even more and suddenly he was face to face with his father. Or at least what was left of him…_

_Then the voice spoke again, sounding like his father but much deeper and darker. It was the Wizard's lips that moved. "You cannot hide from me forever..."_

_There was a burst of light, followed by searing pain, and then the Wizard and his father were gone. As he looked down towards the source of the pain, he found his own arrow embedded in his chest..._

* * *

**_Fangorn Forest, October 23, 3018 T.A._**

With a start, Théodred woke from the dream and looked around. It was still dark, but soft chirping of the morning bird told him it was just before dawn. Still shaken by the dream, he rubbed life into his numb body. He was tired from the lack of sleep that his dreams brought him, but he knew that he wouldn't fall asleep again. He never did.

As dawn slowly began to break, he picked up his bow and quiver, and made his way southwest through the woods. The moon still shone faintly through the treetops, but he would have fared well without its light even in the dead of night.

He moved quietly with certain footsteps and listened to the rustle of leaves with alert ears – so unlike before, when he had ridden the plains in broad daylight, listening to the sound of hoof beats and clanging armor. Back then he had been a proud warrior… and now he was just a shadow among the trees.

He wasn't sure how long he walked, but when rays of sunlight started to stream through the trees, he finally reached the crest he sought. Climbing his way to the top, a shiver ran through him as the landscape below him met his eyes.

_Isengard._

No longer lush with trees... but a stronghold of iron and stone – as dead and harsh as the heart of the traitor who resided in the black tower.

Théodred looked at the sight before him with cold, lifeless eyes. Then, as two pheasants hooted in the trees, he finally turned his back on the abomination and began the hunt.

-0-0-0-

Dríana sat shivering by the weak flames of a fire when Théodred returned with the two birds around mid-morning. Seeing his distant eyes and thin frame brought a lump in her throat. She watched silently as he gave the fire new life and then started to pluck the birds.

"My lord?"

He froze so suddenly that it looked like he had been slapped. Cursing her own carelessness and stupidity, Dríana muttered an apology. She knew that he didn't want to be reminded of his past… or the present for that matter.

Prudently she took another approach. "You left early this morning. It was still dark."

"Yes." He answered without looking up. The first bird was almost done, its feathers spread out on the ground beneath it.

"Why?"

"I wanted to make it higher up the mountainside..."

It wasn't hard for her to tell that it was a lie. "You went south, didn't you?" When there was no answer, she continued. "You went to Isengard..."

At those words, he finally looked up at her. "Yes."

It had been reckless, he knew. Orcs and Uruk-hai roamed the woods both day and night, and that close to Isengard he could easily have been seen. Not even the eerie chill of Fangorn Forest kept them at bay.

Dríana repeated her earlier question. "Why?"

Théodred put the plucked bird aside and shrugged. "I wanted to see… with my own eyes. You know, what the old man told us…"

Dríana noted that he avoided the word 'Wizard', despite the fact that he knew exactly who that old man had been.

-0-

About a month earlier, an eagle's screech had alerted Théodred from his light sleep… and as the eagle had circled towards the ground, Théodred's bow had fired. But, instead of hitting the mighty bird, a flash of light had stopped the arrow... just like in his dream with the crow.

The voice that had spoken had been both stern and kind. "Shooting an eagle is not something you want to do unless you have a death-wish…"

Standing beside the great eagle had been an old man with tattered grey robes and a long silver beard. Théodred had only seen the man once before, but the face of Gandalf the Grey was a face one hardly forgot.

With a nod from the Wizard, the eagle had ascended to the skies, with Théodred looked longingly after it. And not out of hunger.

"Perhaps I do, old man."

The Wizard had then fixed him with an odd stare, a look of recognition passing over his wrinkled features. But, he hadn't said a word, and for that Théodred had been grateful. He doubted that even his cousins would have recognized him in his present state.

His clothes were ragged and torn, his hollow features covered with dirt and cuts, and the bow he carried was a hand carved hunter's bow… not a horse bow. Even if they had been in Edoras, the Wizard couldn't possibly have recognized Théodred son of Théoden.

And still Théodred had seen how Gandalf's gaze had lingered on his blue green eyes, a frown appearing on his old face… and then fading away.

"Very well, I shall be on way then. I do find myself in a bit of a haste to se an old friend."

Théodred hadn't bothered with kind words. "Unless it's one of the tree herders, I doubt you'll find anyone here… except Orcs."

"Well, I found _you_, didn't I?" The Wizard had turned to look at Théodred, his strange wise eyes studying the young Rohirrim.

"Were you even looking?"

A mysterious smile had appeared on the old man's cracked lips. "Sometimes it's easier to find what you are looking for when you _don't_ make an effort of it."

Théodred had almost smiled. But just almost… and that feeling had quickly passed away when he had made the error of asking the Wizard what had brought him to Fangorn Forest on one of the proud eagles of the north.

-0-

As Théodred looked at Dríana again, he found her studying him curiously. With a slight blush she averted her eyes. His clothes might have been ragged and his skin more of a Wildman's than a Prince's, but in her eyes he was still her Lord.

After a moment, he broke the silence that had fallen between them. "I had another dream."

"Like the ones before?" She asked, knowing quite well that the answer was yes. He always dreamed the same dream. A little different than the one before... but still the same.

The first one had occurred three nights after the Wizard's visit, and she had been awakened by him squeezing her wrist so tight that she had feared that it might break. However, the sight of his face had made her forget about the pain. Cold sweat had been running down his forehead and his eyes had stared into emptiness while he whispered, _"The snake is clever... but the eagle will catch it." _

And there was no doubt in her mind that in his dream her hand had been the snake.

* * *

**_Edoras, October 26th, 3018 T.A._**

At the sound of the horn, the gates of Edoras closed for the night. The city quieted down and only a few lights stayed on here and there. From her window in her private chambers, Éowyn watched as the stars lit the dark sky above the plains and the moon rose above the White Mountains.

She hadn't dared hope for a very long time, but now she found herself contemplating the Wizard's words once again… and it brought her hope. If her cousin wasn't dead, then whose body had the riders found by the river? And who had put that body there, and why?

_You cousin is probably the sanest of you all..._

Gandalf's words echoed in her mind. What had Théodred seen that neither she nor Èomer had? And why…

Èowyn's eyes narrowed. It was simple. Someone had wanted Théodred out of the way… and when failing to find him, framed his death instead to drain Rohan off all hope.

Thinking back to those days and weeks before and after her cousin's disappearance, she came to think of Grima Wormtongue's relentless persistence to try and find him. He hadn't even tried to conceal his fury. And then, a few days later he had been practically smiling… as if he knew something that no one else in Edoras did.

Èowyn had never liked nor trusted the man, but that had mainly been because of his lustful glances in her direction. Now, however, there was a different reason, and she knew exactly why she had come to hate him. The King listened to no one but him… and who knew what lies and corrupt words Wormtongue was whispering in the King's ear?

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, though. It was no longer Théoden son of Thengel who ruled the Riddermark. They could all see that now… and yet they did nothing, knowing quite well what the wrongs words and actions would bring them.

Èowyn laughed at the irony. _The brave men and riders of Rohan_… scared of a snake. Only the Prince had been brave enough to face those poisonous fangs.


End file.
